BORGIA

                            [Illustration]

                   “ ... AUTANT EN EMPORTE LY VENS”




                                PERSONS


POPE ALEXANDER VI                    _formerly Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia_
CARDINAL CESARE BORGIA               _afterwards Duc de Valentinois and Duke
                                          of Romagna, the Pope’s son_
DON JOFFRÉ                           _Duke of Squillace, the Pope’s
                                          younger son_
LOUIS XII                            _King of France_
DON JUAN                             _King of Navarre_
CARDINAL FRANCESCO BORGIA            _cousin to the Pope_
CARDINAL IPPOLITO D’ESTE             _son of the Duke of Ferrara_
CARDINAL GIULIANO DELLA ROVERE       _afterwards Pope Julius II and
                                          other Cardinals_.
PRINCE DON ALFONSO                   _Duke of Bisceglia, a natural
                                          son of the King of Naples,
                                          husband to Lucrezia Borgia,
                                          after her divorce from
                                          Giovanni Sforza_
PRINCE DJEM                          _the Sultan’s brother and the
                                          Pope’s hostage_
THE BISHOP OF VENOSA                 _the Pope’s Private Physician_
MONSIGNORE BONAFEDE                  _Bishop of Chiusi_
MONSIGNORE BURCHARD                  _Master of the Ceremonies_
MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO              _the Pope’s Private Chamberlain_
MONSIGNORE GASPARE TORELLA           _Cesare Borgia’s Physician_
CAVALIERE VINCENZO CALMETA           _a poet_
DON PEDRO DE TORPIA                  _Cesare Borgia’s Spanish jailer_
DON MICHELOTTO CORELLA               _one of Cesare Borgia’s captains_
DON FEDERICO ALTIERI                 _a young Roman gentleman_
DON GARCILASO DE LA VEGA             _Spanish Ambassador_
MESSER NICCOLO MACCHIAVELLI          _Florentine Envoy_
MESSER BERNARDINO BETTI (PINTORICCHIO)        _a painter_
MESSER ERCOLE                        _a goldsmith and metal-worker_
MESSER CRISTOFERO                    _Lucrezia Borgia’s Secretary_
MESSER AGAPITO DA AMALIA             _Cesare Borgia’s Secretary_
MESSER PINCIONE                      _an apothecary_
JUANITO GRASICA                      _Cesare Borgia’s page_
GARCIA DE MAGONA                     _a Spanish boy_
GIORGIO                              _a waterman_
DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA                _the Pope’s daughter_
DONNA ADRIANA BORGIA                 _the Pope’s cousin_
DONNA ANGELA BORGIA                  _Maids of Honour to Lucrezia_
DONNA HIERONYMA BORGIA               _Maids of Honour to Lucrezia_
DONNA SANCIA D’ARAGON                _sister to Don Alfonzo
                                          and wife to Don Joffré Borgia_
MADEMOISELLE CHARLOTTE D’ALBRET      _afterwards wife to Cesare Borgia_
DONNA VANOZZA DE’ CATANEI            _once the Pope’s mistress,
                                          and the mother of
                                          Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia_
DONNA GIULIA FARNESE (LA BELLA)           _the Pope’s young mistress_
DONNA FIAMMETTA                      _A Roman woman, Cesare Borgia’s mistress_
DONNA CATILENA DE VALENCE            _Maid of Honour to Lucrezia_
SUOR LUCIA                           _an Anchoress_
CLARICE                              _Maid to Lucrezia_

_A Mute, Shepherds, Citizens of Rome, Attendants, Bargemen, Girls and Women_




                                BORGIA
                             A PERIOD PLAY


                                LONDON
                             A. H. BULLEN
                                 1905




                                BORGIA




ACT I


SCENE I

     _An apartment of the Vatican: at the further end the door of the
     Treasury by which the_ LORD CARDINAL CASANOVA _is seated_.

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _and an_ ENVOY _from Naples_.

     _The_ POPE _is seated; from time to time he plunges his hands into
     a coffer of pearls, letting the pearls stream through his fingers_.


ALEXANDER.

      All are for her! Each an epitome
    Of her--the very skin of them her own,
    Our Pearl above all others. So your monarch
    Will mate his nephew with her?


ENVOY.

                          He consents, Holiness,
    Having o’erlooked the letter
    Giovanni, lord of Pesaro, has written
    In affirmation of her virgin state--
    The fault being his.


ALEXANDER.

                            This sorry Milanese!
    He raves with spite and proves himself a man
    By foul detraction of her family.
    We chuckle at the weakling. He may hoot!
    Your Don Alfonso is a noble lad,
    A girl’s new phœnix....

                               But your master pauses
    To give his only daughter to my son?


ENVOY.

    A cardinal!


ALEXANDER.

      A cardinal, we cannot yet release him
    From vows--your ear!--he holds detestable.
    My second son, where were his livelihood
    Without the Church’s revenue? All prudence
    Must hold him to the priesthood for a while.
    Betroth him to the daughter of your king--
    Your king and I, at leisure, will provide
    Some principality for Cesare
    To match his sees and yielded cardinalate.


ENVOY.

      Make it God’s law your Cardinal may wed,
    And then, his scarlet hat within his hand,
    My lord the king would take him as a son.
    Now, the proposals of your Holiness
    Are but--poetic.


ALEXANDER.

                        No, no! The royal princess
    Carlotta--is her bent our way?


ENVOY.

    She flat refuses the lord Cardinal.


ALEXANDER.

      She has not seen him, blond and beautiful.
    A churchman! You may look with candlelight
    To find his tonsure. Even my dear Giovanni
    Is only half a prince, his brother by,
    Although a rare one in his splendid right.
    And as for mode and elegance all know
    Our youthful Cardinal is just a gallant
    Most Frenchified in form.
                              Well, well, well! I am dreaming:
    Poetry, you call my dreams....
                                   This pleasant marriage
    Of Don Alfonso and my Donna Lucrece
    Will make us jaunty in the Vatican.
    My pearls!--
    You watch them through my fingers--lucent lumps;
    This pear-shaped ovule heavy with its light;
    The pearls and pearlets dropping
    With patters loud and soft together--listen!
    My daughter will have more and lovelier pearls
    Than any woman in the greedy world.
    Would you have sight of one large coffer filled,
    This emulates?
      [_Rising_]. There is the treasury door,
    There the Lord Casanova, full of winks
    At voices from the cave.

_Enter_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO.


POTO.

                                Your Holiness,
    I sought his Excellence the Duke Giovanni
    In his apartments, but he is not there.


ALEXANDER.

      [_To the_ ENVOY.] So strange! My son the Duke of Gandia, fails me
    To-day with greeting, and to-day we fix
    The hour when I review his armaments
    Under our blessèd gonfalon. ’Tis strange.
      [_To_ POTO.] Go to Madonna de’ Catanei’s house:
    His mother made a supper, I was told,
    For him and for his brother. [_Exit_ POTO.
      [_To the_ ENVOY.] You conduct
    Don Cesare when, next month, as our Legate,
    He goes to crown your king?


ENVOY.

    My hope!


ALEXANDER.

                                          And now the pearls!
    Open, Lord Casanova.

     [_The treasurer unfolds the door and discovers_ DONNA GIULIA
     FARNESE _and_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA _in Neapolitan dressing-gowns
     of white silk, their golden hair untressed, choosing jewels for
     their nets_.

                              Indiscreet?
    Laugh, ladies--do not blush. A pair of swans!

      [_Taking_ GIULIA’S _wrist_.] No, no, Madonna--no,
    My Giulia--not the ruby! You must match
    Your lovely eyelets with the diamond.


GIULIA.

                                          Always
    The diamond, Holiness.


ALEXANDER.

                            You shine, you shine!
    Lucrece, my softer radiance--what, my Pearl? [_He kisses her._
    Draw out the heavy coffer,
    Lord Casanova. Open it! The sight
    Grows slippery on these burnished domes!
                                        There, there--ah, there
    Is patrimony....


ENVOY.

    Wondrous!


ALEXANDER.

                                      Tell your master.

      [_His arm round his daughter._] Lucrece, the King
                  of Naples sends his nephew
    To cheer your maiden widowhood. Next month
    You will be bride and wife.


LUCREZIA.

    So soon!


ALEXANDER.

                                          Santi! she quarrels
    In maidenwise with time! You shall not leave me,
    As when you wept at Pesaro. Your Prince
    Consents! Alfonso is of lusty frame--
    Good face and eyes.... I speak him as he is?


ENVOY.

    The handsomest youth of Naples.


ALEXANDER.

                                        There, my girl!
    So end your troubles! ’Tis a swelling shoot,--
    This bridegroom.


LUCREZIA.

    May Madonna prosper me!


ALEXANDER.

      [_Crossing himself._] The glorious Virgin--to that prayer, Amen!

      [_To the_ ENVOY.] Our daughter bent obedient to our will
    Her idle marriage should be set aside,
    By mercy flawless and canonical,
    With modesty’s reluctance: she will bless
    Our older wisdom in Alfonso’s arms.
    No clouding, Pearl!
    We can but laugh exultantly to open
    Our treasury and find, as in a case,
    Two perfect jewels of Pandora’s kind.


LUCREZIA.

      [_In a whisper to the_ POPE.] The orator will disesteem me thus,
    In spreading hair and _schiavonetto_.


ALEXANDER.

                                      Never
    Will any man but worship loveliness
    Wrapt loosely and dishevelled.
                                    Charm, my fair ones, charm
    Is simple in ascendency.

_Re-enter_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO.


POTO.

                              Madonna
    Vanozza de’ Catanei bids me say
    His Excellence the Duke of Gandia left her
    At nightfall, riding with Don Cesare,
    After a merry supper. Shall we search, Holiness,
    His lordship’s haunts?


ALEXANDER.

                        O Poto, Poto, search
    His haunts! The malice of these chamberlains!
    Madonna Giulia, Monsignore Poto
    Would search the place where Don Giovanni hides.
    Have mercy on my son!


GIULIA.

                                Monsignore finds
    Your Holiness so jovial he is conquered


LUCREZIA.

    Excuse him!


ALEXANDER.

                                    Even our ladies, Poto,
    Plead for the Duke’s seclusion. Without doubt
    He waits for sundown to forsake the place
    Where he was sociable.


LUCREZIA.

                            Then is Giovanni
    So wary in his fancies?


ALEXANDER.

                            Oh, for my sake--
    But you forget it--for his father’s sake ...
    To-night he will be with us--we have patience:
    Though not to fix when we review his troops,
    That is a fault and we must chide our Captain.
    Well, my Lord Casanova, close
    Your treasury: we would not lose such jewels!


SCENE II

     _A Room in the_ LORD CESARE BORGIA’S _Palace of Borgo Sant’Angelo_.

     MESSER BERNARDINO BETTI (PINTORICCHIO) _and_ MESSER ERCOLE _are
     waiting to deliver a ceremonial sword_.

_Enter_ LORD BONAFEDE, _Bishop of Chiusi_.


BONAFEDE.

      The worshipful Lord Cardinal is coming;
    I have announced you. The ambassadors
    Had taken leave.

    [_Examining the sword in the hands of_ MESSER ERCOLE.

                      By Hercules--your pardon,
    Yet by your name, as if it were divine--
    This queen of swords is warlike, not of peace
    In its adornment as a legate’s sword ...
    A legate, _tamquam pacis angelus_,
    In Holy Father’s phrase. O sirs, the shame
    That such a soldier--what condottiere
    In Italy would match our Cardinal--
    Is wasted on the Church.


PINTORICCHIO.

    Lord Bonafede!


BONAFEDE.

      I speak out of my flesh. I have gone ever cursing
    The tonsure where the helmet should have been.
    I am a man-at-arms, the jangling glories
    Of panoply are dearer than the bell
    That dins the raising of God’s sacrifice.
    Come, Messer Bernardino, you can mingle
    Your saints with Pagan bulls and goddesses
    Who love their gods by Nile.
                                  Cesar!

_Enter the_ LORD CARDINAL CESARE BORGIA.


CESARE.

                                            The sword!
    So I receive my fate. _Cum numine
    Cesaris omen._ [_He holds the sword erect and kisses the motto._
                  The Lord Cardinal’s Sword,
    The Legate’s Sword! I laugh ... it is at others,
    The names they call me, when I have one name
    Hot at the core of fixedness, my heart.
    O antique Cesar, conqueror and fount
    Of empire, thou wert made my saint at birth;
    Thou art my spirit and my augury,
    Thy laurels guard me and thy eagles’ wings.
    My eyes are on thee and thou lead’st my dreams
    To homage and thy triumph. _Dive Cesar_,
    Here is thy name
    Cut as I bade upon thy chariot-wheel,
    Since triumphers can use the spokes of Fortune
    For carriage of their prevalence.
                                      My thanks
    To you, dear Bernardino, I have always
    Loved for your gifts, esteemed as one of ours,
    Who wove our life round with the signs and legends
    Denoting us by power of phantasy;
    I thank you for this emblem of my soul,
    Prefigured in these lovely images.
    My equal thanks
    To you, good Messer Ercole, for strength
    And nobleness of handiwork, the craft
    That has subverted matter, as the god
    Turned chaos to a fabric. Ah, and the work,
    Your work, is done, signed of your fame and done.
    You are most happy. Mine is all an absence
    As yet, a future! But the pledge is mine--
    This sword, your creature, and my prophecy.


PINTORICCHIO.

      Beloved and Cesar, you have been our poet;
    From you our valid agency, from you
    The teeming of the parable.


ERCOLE.

                                You notice
    The azure guard? It pleases you?


CESARE.

                                      As spring’s
    Sky-blue. Lord Bonafede, you that savour
    The taste of steel, run with your finger down
    These grooves: now see the contour and the curves,
    The equilibrium, so beautiful
    I worship it with reverence. Now bend
    Above the glass, like adamant, and trace
    My hero in his deeds.
                          Here is a mighty deed,
    And one that was of doom. This floating ensign,
    These naked horsemen at the riverside,
    The child, with wreath of laurel, by the flood
    Playing his flute to outset of a life....
    For this is Cesar crossing Rubicon.
    Here are his very words: “The die is cast.” ...

_Enter_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO.


POTO.

      Your Worship,
    His Holiness requires you instantly;
    For he is gnawed by deep inquietude.
    The Duke your brother has been missed two nights,
    Has disappeared without a trace....


CESARE.

    What, lost?


POTO.

      The Holy Father shakes with agitation;
    His emissaries seek the city through,
    And he is grievously impatient, asking
    The aid of heaven and earth. You saw the Duke
    At the Madonna de’ Catanei’s house.
    His Holiness would question you.


CESARE.

    I come.

    [_They wait while_ CESARE _stands absorbed_.


POTO.

      Pardon! The Holy Father is in wrath
    As well as fear.


CESARE.

                      I come. Oh, my Lord Bonafede,
    The sword is in your charge....
                                        And see this picture--
    The Borgian Bull,
    A victim at its feet. The flames are blown;
    There will be sacrifice! It was a dream
    I told to Messer Bernardino....
      [_To_ POTO.] Swift,
    Come swiftly to the Vatican! Giovanni--
    Well, is he dead, or will he yet return?


SCENE III

     _The Vatican: a room overlooking the Tiber. It is twilight._

     DON JOFFRÉ BORGIA _and_ DONNA SANCIA D’ARAGON, _who is weeping,
     look out from a distant window; near at hand the_ LORD CARDINALS
     FRANCESCO BORGIA _and_ BARTOLOMEO OF SEGOVIA _are also looking
     out_.

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _is pacing backward and forward_.


ALEXANDER.

    [_Pausing by the_ CARDINALS.]

                                  Those lights ... those fireflies
    Out on the river, do they dance above him
    Fast as they swarm and change?


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    You must not watch them.


ALEXANDER.

      It takes my mind off from the pictures sweeping
    As in a fever, through it. Fast they come....

     [_He begins to pace again, his arm in_ CARDINAL SEGOVIA’S.

                                        Cesare’s picture
    Of how they parted on the Banchi Vecchi;
    The strange masked figure that Giovanni swung
    Up to his saddle as he rode away,
    Away--
    I see him in the midsummer, calm night--
    Toward the Jews’ quarter in Sant’ Angelo,
    Toward the dark Sistine Convent, and beyond ...
    Ha, to the quarter of our deadly foemen,
    The Bears, the vile Orsini.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    That looks ill.


ALEXANDER.

      And he was never seen again. His brother
    Says the masked recreant came behind a vine-stock,
    And motioned to Giovanni secretly:
    He says Giovanni
    Was red and vehement as he turned back
    To feasting at the table.... Ah, more pictures!
    A new one, painted wet upon my brain
    Over the rest!

[_Stopping suddenly in the middle of the room._

                    Where is he,--my young son,
    My beautiful Giovanni? You stand round,
    Wise with the Church’s wisdom, but where is he?
    He may be living, tortured, gagged.... He is not!
    No, there is come a change in me; I know
    He is not breathing with me any more,
    And yet I cannot bid you pray for him;
    I do not count him dead. He is but lost,
    And lost so deep I do not think a creature,
    Nor even his Creator knows the place
    That he has wandered to. The lost must wander,
    They have no goal, not even hell, no rest.
    They have their freedom as the unbaptized
    To rove in horror where none plucks the sleeve
    Or questions them or bids good-day.
    They wander on till they are flitting ghosts,
    Till they are elemental and dissolved,
    And when they would entreat us, they must rail
    In the howling wind about our chimney-stacks.
    So I encounter my Giovanni--so!
    So I was tutored of the storm last night.
    He is not breathing with us any more!


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    Have faith, his body will be found.


ALEXANDER.

                                      His body!
    When last I saw the boy
    He shook his golden poll with merriment
    That I received his Spanish mistress here,
    A most devout and humble Catholic,
    With eyes dark wells for Cupid’s thirst. He laughed,
    Till all the room was sunbeams from his mirth.

DONNA ADRIANA ORSINI _enters, supporting_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA. _They
are deeply veiled._

    If God
    Turn such a thing as that to carrion--then
    I shall curse God. [_He makes a gesture of imprecation._
      [_Turning to_ LUCREZIA.] Well, wanton, you look white!
    What comfort have you? Would you be a nun
    That you crept to San Sisto from your palace
    Soon as you heard? Is not this missing boy
    Your brother? You would steal from any noise.
    The tumult of the people and its rage
    Is round Giovanni’s name; but yesterday
    The bruit of the town was of Lucrezia.
    If any, you should suffer from men’s tongues,
    And you refuse to suffer. All reproaches
    Drive you more dumb. But now you shall not cloak
    This mystery as if it were a relic.
    You have been with the boy: you know
    Where he loved, where he was hated. All our loves
    And hates are in your hands. You have grown more blind
    Than any woman ever made herself
    That she might see in the dark.
                                    Give up your witness.

[LUCREZIA _remains before him silent, with open mouth_.

    A little devil, circumspect,
    When I would have rank truth.
      [_To the_ CARDINALS.] Are these my children?
    Oh, but I spare them ... we must spare our bastards,
    It says in Holy Writ. [_He goes towards the further window._


LUCREZIA.

      [_In a whisper to_ ADRIANA.] Giovanni.... Yes....
    He is very rash and very quick to wrath,
    Yet dear in his quick temper. I have seen him
    Too little since he came from Spain. Pray God
    I may look on him again!


ALEXANDER.

      [_From the back._] Joffré, you stand
    Like a fixed statue draughty in a niche:
    I do not pin you there. Go all of you! Go hence!
    Sancia, I am ashamed that you should sit
    Weeping what is not of your blood. Get up!
    Out of my presence! You all stand and gaze
    As at a play--perhaps a comedy.

[JOFFRÉ _and_ SANCIA _go out_.

    [_To_ LUCREZIA.] And you--unnatural, go hence!

     [ADRIANA _makes a gesture of appeal_: ALEXANDER _waves his hand
     wrathfully. As the women go out, an usher meets them, closely
     followed by_ MADONNA DE’ CATANEI.

                            God’s breath,
    His mother!

     [_The usher speaks to_ LUCREZIA. LUCREZIA _puts her arms round her
     mother’s neck_.

              We are here in privacy.

    _To_ CARDINAL BORGIA.] Bring her in hither to me.

     [VANOZZA, _holding_ LUCREZIA’S _hand, is conducted to the_ POPE.
     _She falls at his feet: he raises her._

                                  O Vanozza,
    Poor heart!


VANOZZA.

      My Lord, your Holiness, I came--
    Forgive me.


ALEXANDER.

      Nay! [_He falls sobbing on her shoulder._
    We mourn together. Where we had a son
    For eyes’ delight, there is nothing.
      [_Soothing and patting_ VANOZZA.] Hush, you must not!
    Little beloved, you suckled him. You must not!
    Go home; pray to Madonna.--She will hear.
    And let me see your face.
      [_Drawing her veil._] It is the same;
      As honest and as good.

[_He holds her face in his hands._


VANOZZA.

                             I have good children.
    I am so richly blessed ... and this dear boy,
    A Prince from Spain, came back again and kissed me.


ALEXANDER.

      Good son and enviable righteousness
    To kiss this face in filial piety.
    There, there, you must forget him!

[GASPARE POTO _approaches_.

                                       Poto,
    You pull my skirts.


POTO.

    Come quick. A waterman....


ALEXANDER.

[_Steadying himself against_ VANOZZA.

    Then tell me, Poto.... Let me know from you.

[_He moans._


POTO.

    I cannot tell you more; he waits to speak.

     [POTO _supports the_ POPE _to where the waterman_ GIORGIO _stands
     with an Inquisitor at the further end of the room_.


LUCREZIA.

[_Suddenly coming to_ VANOZZA.

    Cesare!... Mother, we must cling to him.


VANOZZA.

    Where is he? In these halls? It dazes me....

[_Watching the_ POPE.

    God’s image on the earth! I was profane....
    And you a Princess, too! O my Giovanni!
    You, all of you, are but as visitants;
    You are enskied afar. Happy, unhappy mother!
    Child! O sweet, floating hair against my cheek,
    And your cold cheek....


LUCREZIA.

                                Mother, but you were happy
    When Cesar and Giovanni supped together?


VANOZZA.

      I never saw them both more gay or fair;
    They plagued each other like two golden lances
    Crossed in the sunshine at a tournament--
    And so till Cesare had warned the hour.


LUCREZIA.

    We must cling to him.


VANOZZA.

                            Can I give a thought
    To any but my lost, my lost Giovanni,
    My all but God--and to my God? Lucrece
    Turns with her mother to His Throne of Mercy?
    O Child! [_Her cry echoes one from the_ POPE.


ALEXANDER.

      Hush, hush!... It is incredible.
    The horror swallows me. Hush, hush!
                                        Laid over
    The white horse!...

      [_Advancing._] O Madonna de’ Catanei,
    Go with the girl away. You shall have tidings.
    His mother--go!
    My blessing, child. I have no more to say.

    [_Exeunt_ VANOZZA _and_ LUCREZIA.

    Good Adriana, follow them.


ADRIANA.

    And you, Rodrigo?


ALEXANDER.

    Follow them. [_Exit_ ADRIANA.

                 _Sancta Dei Genetrix,
    Turris Davidica, Refugium
    Peccatorum, Virgo clemens!_--

      [_Returning._] What is this, Francesco,
    He tells you further? Nay,
    You will not broach the facts? He saw these men
    Creep back and other two come stealing downward,
    And the white horse--and what it bore.

      [_To_ CARDINAL SEGOVIA.] Your arm!


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    Spare yourself, Holiness.


GIORGIO.

                              I told the Inquisitors
    All as it happened.


ALEXANDER.

    Tell me.


GIORGIO.

                                By the Tiber
    They turned the horse and swung the body down
    In heavy mire and litter. I could see
    A bulrush sucked at by the risen billow,
    And how a winding object swam along,
    Lapped by the current--’twas the dead man’s cloak.
    They pelted it with stones: then....


ALEXANDER.

      [_To_ CARDINAL BORGIA, _who supports him_.]
                                          Cousin--O Francesco,
    And I have wit to ask where this was seen.


POTO.

    On the Rispetti, by the Ospedale.


ALEXANDER.

      [_To_ GIORGIO.] Then go and tell the fishermen; direct
    Those foolish, flitting lights that drive me mad.

    [GIORGIO _moves away_.

    Why have you held your peace?


GIORGIO.

                                  A hundred times,
    From my beached boat
    What I have seen I saw--none cared to hear.

    [_Exit with Inquisitor._


ALEXANDER.

      Thrown out as dust and refuse to the river,
    My worship!--leaving me
    As one who is no more. My life’s high hope
    Snatched under darkness, sodden,
    A dead boy, who was proud and beautiful.
    Francesco, in a single night! O Cousin,
    I thought that he was comforting his youth
    In a kind Thaïs’ arms and he was down
    At the bottom of that river!


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                                  Nay, dear Holiness,
    Has not this Giorgio seen a hundred times....


ALEXANDER.

    You think Giovanni lives?


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    God grant it!


ALEXANDER.

                  He has ridden
    Beyond the walls, at some castello wooing
    Maiden or wife, since summer bans the chase;
    A foolish pastime ’mid infested country!
    But now the vineyards are as silken tents
    For Amor’s camp. I am too precipitous
    In passion: I must wait another night,
    And then ... fold him again
    Upon my heart! Go back, go back, my heart!
    Patience! [_He finds himself at the window._
              But see, there, see
    The lights are sailing to one point. Out yonder
    What is that spot of dusk?


POTO.

    The Ospedale.


ALEXANDER.

      A constellation!
    Malign, bright stars! Giovanni! But the lights
    Are moving onward to Sant’ Angelo.
    They move along in state. It is my son!
    They dazzle me.... They pass me....

_Enter_ MONSIGNORE BURCHARD.


BURCHARD.

                                            Holy Father,
    The illustrious Duke of Gandia has been found
    In velvet coat and cloak, the dagger sheathed,
    His ducats in his purse.


ALEXANDER.

      It sails, it sails, it sails
    On to Sant’ Angelo. The torches....


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    Nothing is stol’n?


BURCHARD.

    No, not a single gem.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    Vendetta? Are there wounds?


BURCHARD.

                                    I counted seven;
    One mortal in the throat. His hands were tied.


ALEXANDER.

    [_With a howl like a lion’s._] God, by God’s blood, my curse!

    [_He falls in a swoon._


BURCHARD.

    [_Lifting both hands._] His Vicar here on earth!


CARDINAL BORGIA.

      [_Who kneels and supports the_ POPE.] Beware!
    His father must not see him.


BURCHARD.

                                  Washed and habited
    As Gonfalonier, on an open bier,
    He will be borne,
    With flambeaux, to his mother’s private chapel,
    And will be swiftly hidden!
      [_Shrugging his shoulders._] But, my lords,
    The populace is ribald: it acclaims
    His Holiness the fisher of his son,
    Though not, by rights, of men.

    [POTO _and the_ CARDINALS _laugh_.


ALEXANDER.

    [_Slowly opening his eyes._] Francesco, are they talking of my son?


SCENE IV

     _A room in the_ LORD CARDINAL CESARE BORGIA’S _Palace of Borgo
     Sant’ Angelo_.

     _It is dead midnight: lights are burning._ LORD CARDINAL CESARE,
     _in the black satin dress of a Spanish gentleman, with jewelled
     poignard, reclines on a couch. He appears to be sleeping, except
     that now and again he slowly rolls from hand to hand a gold ball of
     perfumes. His Spanish page_ JUANITO GRASICA _is asleep. Behind the
     couch, across a table, the great ceremonial sword lies naked, and
     near it is a new purchase, the sleeping Cupid with broken foot of_
     MESSER BUONAROTTI.

     DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA _enters with_ DONNA ADRIANA ORSINI, _whose
     hand she clasps: she looses it, and, after a moment’s pause, comes
     to her brother_.


LUCREZIA.

      Madonna Adriana brought me here;
    She stays without: I go back to the convent.
    Cesare--tell me all that I should pray.


CESARE.

    [_Turning his head back towards her from the couch._

      Amanda, that your scruples be removed;
    That I be Cesar.


LUCREZIA.

    Take a little rest.


CESARE.

    Shall you, from prayer?
                            To-night you look a sibyl.
    Who did this deed?


LUCREZIA.

                        Let Juan play the lute;
    You must have music through these restless nights.
    How lost you look!


CESARE.

    You startled me. How lost!

    [_He closes his eyes._


LUCREZIA.

      [_Stealing away to_ ADRIANA.] He is dreaming; he has quite forgotten me.
    Come, Adriana, soft! As an astronomer
    He must not be disturbed: he is quite lost.


SCENE V

     _The_ POPE’S _Bedroom in the Borgia Apartments at the Vatican_.

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _is extended asleep on the bed_.

     _The_ LORD CARDINAL BARTOLOMEO _of Segovia and_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE
     POTO.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      I thank God for this sleep. Those fearful days
    I knelt against his door! The raving wildness
    I heard at times--inhospitable sorrow,
    Aloof from our Creator! Then, dashed down,
    The heavy frame wept like a haunted child’s.
    Then silence
    Too perilous to spread! I beat the door.


POTO.

    We stood and watched and prayed you might prevail.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      And when he opened--Jesu, he was faded
    As a dead fish; slack chin, and Arab eyes
    Glassy in fever, with a vengeful thirst.
    If only he had known the murderer,
    And could have struck him down to deepest hell--


POTO.

      Each moment
    He snatches ends of this dark mystery,
    As he unravelled at the dead of night
    The broidery on a frame he could but feel.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      True, true! It turns the brain that no one knows.
    Some whisper ’twas the Lord of Pesaro
    Revenged himself for ridicule and the shame
    Of his divorce.


POTO.

    [_Shaking his head._] He has no credit here.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                                          Some roundly have it
    The Lord Ascanio Sforza did the deed,
    For he and Gandia quarrelled the same day
    That our fine Duke was struck.


POTO.

                                      It was a masterpiece
    Of secrecy--this murder.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    No more news?


POTO.

      By item all I know is told to you,
    My Lord Segovia.


ALEXANDER.

    [_From the bed._] Ah!


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                          I will retire,
    And send the Lord Francesco Borgia up
    To urge his cousin’s appetite.
                                Behold!

    [POTO, _turning to the bed, finds the_ POPE _sitting up, a
    beatific smile on his face_.


ALEXANDER.

    But I have seen my son in Paradise....


POTO.

    How fares your Holiness this morning?


ALEXANDER.

                                            Poto,
    There was no scar on him, not the least wound;
    That is the truth: and he stood armed again.
    As bright as San Michele he looked down
    Upon us from the wall, his gonfalon
    Swathing around him as he stood. His face
    Was to me as an angel’s.
      [_He weeps quietly._] I repent,
    I will change all to meet that boy again
    In Paradise, no wound on him, no scar.
    And yet the sight of him,
    O Poto, drove down to the rasping quick
    Of conscience through my heart. All shall be changed,
    The Vatican be cleared of sin. These bastards ...
    Let me not see them more! Joffré, Lucrezia--
    Joffré must mind his government afar,
    I banish him. Lucrece--oh, I shall gather
    The seas between us; she shall dwell in Spain,
    Dwell in Valencia, deep, where I was born,
    White little demon-girl!
      [_He rises, trembling, and_ POTO _robes him_.] No priest henceforward
    Shall hold two benefices; simony
    No more shall breed among us. God would punish
    Some sin in us; it could not be Giovanni
    Deserved a death so cruel. Gently, Poto,
    You are too violent.


POTO.

                          Patience, Holiness,
    You slit the silk.


ALEXANDER.

                    Where is the Cardinal
    I called my son? Unnatural, where are they?
    The children I have fostered in my bosom,
    Where are they?


POTO.

                    Holiness,
    Donna Lucrezia in the Sistine Convent
    Prays day and night.


ALEXANDER.

    Sweet soul!


POTO.

    The Lord Valencia--


ALEXANDER.

    Ah, what of him? Where is his piety?


POTO.

      When your affliction broke on you, before it
    Men fled as from a pest. Lord Cesare
    Is shut within his palace; duteously,
    Almost from hour to hour, his servants pass
    For tidings of your health.

_An_ USHER _appears at the door_.


USHER.

                                The Governor
    Of Rome prays for the Presence.


ALEXANDER.

                                    He has tidings?
    Oh, it will break my heart! I would lie down
    Within my coffin--and that tapestry
    About the portal, with its shaking folds,
    Opens and shuts the lid. Let him come in.

    [_The_ GOVERNOR _comes to the_ PONTIFF’S _feet_.

    I would not question you; give full relation;
    Do not repeat the tales of yesterday.


GOVERNOR.

      Most Holy Father, there is little new
    Of the Lord Duke to certify--his mule
    Was found hard by the Palace Barbarini.


ALEXANDER.

      [_To_ POTO.] My lad, my lad! We know what beauty there
    Looks into Tiber like the moon!
                                    I thank you
    For your devotion.


GOVERNOR.

    Shall we still further search?


ALEXANDER.

      Expressly, till the recreant be slain.
    He dies within my thoughts a several death
    Each time I front the dark where he is lost.
    God damn him deeper every day! Search, search!

    [_Exit_ GOVERNOR.

    His mule, and at that spot! Gaspare, breathe around
    The Palace, bribe the women. If a stab
    From jealousy--we stop the inquisition.
    _Mea culpa, mea culpa!_

_Enter the_ LORD FRANCESCO BORGIA.

    O Francesco,
    What do you bear so carefully--the Host?


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    Nay, but a little food.


ALEXANDER.

                              I cannot eat.
    Gaspare, bear it from the room. Go all
    Away from me!

    [_Exeunt all save_ CARDINAL BORGIA, _who quietly remains_.

    Cousin, you wait for news?
                                It is too true
    The boy has perished by his father’s sins.
    I must make expiation for his lust:
    I have lived ill. Before the Consistory
    I will make full confession.


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                                Holiness,
    If I may trust the murmur in my ears
    From men to whose free speech
    I gave safe conduct, it is not for you
    To make avowal. Heaven requires of you
    Such greatness and capacity of pardon
    As in extent it touched the limits of,
    Setting its brand of safety upon Cain.


ALEXANDER.

    What, Joffré?


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                      No, not Joffré ... but a son.
    Belovèd, exercise the privilege
    Of God’s vicegerent. Wash away this guilt,
    Remove it from you; pardon secretly.


ALEXANDER.

      Not Joffré? Joffré is my heir.... You lay
    A heavy stone upon Giovanni’s grave
    To keep me from him. But it is not true,
    It cannot be! We Borgia do no harm
    To any of our kin.


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                        And yet to certainty
    Drive the suspicion, and forgive the crime.

    [_The_ POPE _paces, wringing his hands_.


ALEXANDER.

      He never made complaint. I have been thoughtless,
    Thoughtless to Cesare.... He has been absent
    Too often from our ceremonials,
    From our investitures. I drove him jealous
    By welcome of his brother out of Spain.
    I did him wrong.
                      Good kinsman, you have taught me
    To dry my tears ... and I have still a son.
    Fetch me again the little dish of food,
    The wine.... I am grown faint.
                                    See that this bruit
    Come never to his mother. He is all
    To her as if he were her eldest born.
    God knows my love to him is infinite!
    But--bid him keep his palace. I forbid
    His presence here.... My sins have plunged my children
    In death and hell, and I must live alone.


SCENE VI

     _The Vatican; Sala dei Pontifici._

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _is enthroned_. _The_ LORD CARDINAL CESARE
     BORGIA _stands before him, defiant_.


ALEXANDER.

    How dare you thus intrude?


CESARE.

                                But it is rumoured
    It is your will
    The Lord Ascanio Sforza be your legate
    In this affair of Naples.


ALEXANDER.

    Ay, my will.


CESARE.

      Your Holiness will recollect he lies
    Under suspicion of Giovanni’s death.
    You send a blood-stained envoy on this business,
    And thrust me from my place. You have yourself
    To thank for your Giovanni’s death; the honours
    You heaped on him have brought him to his doom.
    Will you bring more
    And greater desolation on your years?


ALEXANDER.

      You shall not go
    To Naples. You forget your brother’s death.


CESARE.

      I am your legate, if before, so after.
    As for my brother’s death, that is but Fortune--
    The spokes of her wheel turned bright on me. I was
    Your second son, enslaved to your vocation;
    Profane, I touched your sacred things and trembled
    You dared to put me to such use: in secret
    I wrought my sword, my legend. I am Cesar,
    And he is all my omen. By a fate
    So marvellous it rocks my very dreams
    I wake, I rouse myself
    To majesty you put on me, or let it
    Drop downward to the void.

    [_Motioning to the_ POPE _that he must continue speaking_.

                                You did not reckon
    With me, you let Giovanni take my place
    Beside you and your throne. None noted me
    Level among the scarlet hats, except
    This goddess with a rudder, this fair child
    Of Jove, this liberator. I am silent,
    Except before confusion such as yours.

    [_Coming closer to the_ POPE.

    Blind to the moment--you have not been blind.
    I watched you from Spoleto setting gins,
    I watched you bribe on bribe....


ALEXANDER.

                                      Ay, there you track me,
    And I must answer for my wickedness.
    I owe my seat to wickedness.


CESARE.

                                  Leave weeping!
    There should be pact between us. How your coffers
    Are filled I know, and where your heart is lavish,
    And what you dream. I kneel before your throne
    With faculty
    As boundless as a god’s, with strength as supple,
    To be your instrument, to win you lands,
    To give you rule. You have forbidden me
    Your presence: if I pass from it forbidden,
    I leave you--up and down to wave your hands
    In blessing on the powers you supplicate.
    While, if you bid me to your side, I build
    An army for the Church; there will be legions....


ALEXANDER.

    [_Hiding his face in his cope._] Ah me! of darkest angels!


CESARE.

                                Citizens
    As once in Rome; and the Eternal City
    Safe from her foes.


ALEXANDER.

                      You came on me so sudden,
    You overwhelm me....
                            But you shall go to Naples,
    And not Ascanio.


CESARE.

    Father!


ALEXANDER.

      [_Drawing_ CESARE _to him_.] I have wronged you.
    Come to my heart.


CESARE.

    I will redress the wrong.

    [_The_ POPE _kisses_ CESARE _coldly on his forehead, and
    blesses him_. CESARE _passes out_.


ALEXANDER.

      How swift he moves away--as if
    With something he had snatched!
                                    Is it my soul?




ACT II


SCENE I

     _Rome: the Piazza Navona._

     _In the centre an antique statue stands, half-excavated, dressed up
     and painted to represent Proteus as an old man, one of his arms
     being turned into a dragon, one into a bull. This is the statue
     called Pasquino, and it flutters with epigrams and satires. To the
     left the door and steps of the Church of San Giacomo. To the right
     some houses: behind Pasquino, the Orsini Palace._

     _It is early--the market-people are beginning to arrive._

     _The_ LORD CARDINAL CESARE BORGIA, _in the caftan and turban of a
     Turk, comes out of one of the houses with the Turkish_ PRINCE DJEM.
     _He stands and looks round from the centre of the Piazza, near
     Pasquino, and close to the adjacent stone-seat belonging to the old
     Stadium of Domitian._


CESARE.

Djem, Djem! let us stay here awhile. We must rest, for our night has
been a busy one. How pale the morning looks, the girls unsunned, and the
church chilly!


DJEM.

You do not look pale. You look very handsome, dressed as a Turk.


CESARE.

I shall never look so handsome in this dress again; it will never be so
indecent. It is as if a wench were clad as generalissimo--a Cardinal in
these fair war-colours. The very broideries have a courage in them. How
bold they are! How they glitter!


DJEM.

You should fight with us in our army.


CESARE.

[_Putting his arm round_ DJEM’S _neck_.] You shall fight with me in my
army. We have borne such witness against ourselves, and in places where
the Cardinals might recount our misdoings, that to-morrow in Consistory,
when I make appeal, they will release me from my vow.


DJEM.

Then you will be no longer Christian?


CESARE.

Look there, look at those yellow-garbed Marani. To save life and limb
they pay me monies--money for a journey to France. Oh, look at them!
They groan, and I am the cause. [_With a gay laugh._] I am a Christian.
[_He sits on the stone bench._] By the Holy Keys, I could bury myself in
these trousers! They almost bury you, and your five daily meals with the
sugared water as preamble! What an elephant you are, Djem, in your
thirty thousand yards of linen! If I could walk like you! It is the
measured step of the elephant and the beat of a Venetian chorus.... Then
you have killed four people--Ecco!


DJEM.

Ha, ha, ha!


CESARE.

Your eyes are half-closed, but I can see a bluish, glistening sword....
Four victims!

    [_His hand touches his hilt._


DJEM.

Will you take me into your church? They are staring at you, these little
girls. You go far.


CESARE.

[_To a girl._] My little love, your name?


GIRL.

Virgilia.


CESARE.

You find me beautiful? While the Piazza is still empty....

    [_He whirls her swiftly round Pasquino._


DJEM.

This may not be in the Piazza.


CESARE.

[_Sitting down again._] You shall see what may be in the Church.
Virgilia, you should kiss the Captain.


GIRL.

Not that one.


CESARE.

[_Resting his elbows on his knees and extending his hands to her._] But
who is the Captain?


GIRL.

You, you are the beautiful Captain.

CESARE.

And he has kissed you, remember!


GIRL.

I will bring you melons.


CESARE.

[_To_ VIRGILIA’S _companion_.] What have you for your soldier?


DJEM.

I will give you gems from this chain, little lady, if you will so honour
me. Ha, a kiss!


CESARE.

Bought, bought! You are shedding your great clusters.

     _Enter the_ LORD CARDINAL IPPOLITO D’ESTE _and_ PRINCESS SANCIA OF
     SQUILLACE. CESARE _lightly greets the_ PRINCESS, _but bows
     profoundly to the_ CARDINAL.

Matutinal, fair lady?


SANCIA.

As you.


CESARE.

As I. Matutinal, fresh from the couch, and conducted by divinity to your
prayers!


SANCIA.

We do not come from Mass.


CESARE.

Lord Cardinal, I must deliver you from the burthen of your sins.
[_Drawing_ SANCIA _to his side_.] A Paynim to a Paynim.


CARDINAL IPPOLITO.

I was conducting the fair Princess home from a masquerade.


CESARE.

Let her join the masqueraders.

    [_Exit_ CARDINAL IPPOLITO, _dismissed by a gesture from_
    SANCIA.

Djem, is not the devil in her eyes? Your captives gleam so when they are
taken.


SANCIA.

You conduct me to Mass--is that your pleasure?


CESARE.

It is my pleasure to conduct you.


SANCIA.

An infidel, a bastard Paynim! The true breed does not flaunt it so
licentiously. Sultan Djem, are you curious in our worship?


DJEM.

I am curious, Madonna, to watch you.


SANCIA.

I am veiled.


DJEM.

Ah, you are not carnal enough to be veiled. Some of our treasure is in
caskets, some exposed. To some men it is the knowledge of what is hidden
that animates; to others--


SANCIA.

See, I unveil.


DJEM.

It is useless, Madonna; you are a spot....


CESARE.

A spot, a temptress, a devil! How we gather our escort, proceeding!

    [_He advances up the church steps with SANCIA,
    followed by_ DJEM.


A ROMAN PEASANT WOMAN.

Who is it, Virgilia?


VOICES.

    It is one who rode a white horse.
   --You would say a sumpter-mule, for the beast had packs.
   --Who is it?
   --It is an Infidel.
   --Let us stone him!
   --It is one with claws--it is the Devil.
   --He walks with Princess Sancia.
   --The Duke Giovanni did that.


SANCIA.

Do you hear? There is another brother. I am between two, and attended.


CESARE.

      Does the crowd still keep the legend?
    Off, gentles, you do not know me.


VOICES.

    What are you?
    [_He turns and fronts them._] The Lord Cardinal!
   --The Pope’s son!


A FAR-OFF VOICE.

    You are the brother of a ghost.

    [_Two Spanish Gentlemen of_ CESARE’S _train pass and doff to him_.

   --Ugh, the Spaniards!
   --Hidalgo!
   --Moor!
   --Infidel!
   --Where is your cut-throat?


A BOY.

    You are the Lord Cesar.

    [CESARE _goes up to the_ BOY _and flings a chain round his neck_.


OTHER VOICES.

      More allegiance!
    Cesar, Cesar! [_He scatters largesse._


CESARE.

Lord of the feast, lord of all revels, lord of Rome! Now read Pasquino’s
libels--then follow to church.

    [_Exit into San Giacomo with_ SANCIA _and_ DJEM.


VOICES.

    But he has the face of a king.
   --I picked a stone and threw--it grew like a millstone
                  when he smiled at me.
   --He has a face full of pardon.
   --You shamed him with the ghost.
   --La, la, la! He is shameless as a child. You may be
                  ribald before him; he cannot for
                  very innocence reprove.
   --He bade us read Pasquino.
   --Come!
   --Messer Millini, you are a notary.
   --Read!
   --Catch these doves round Pasquino, and let us hear them coo.
   --What part does he play?


NOTARY.

    ’Tis Proteus.


AN ONION-SELLER.

    And what is Proteus?


NOTARY.

An old prophet who changes shape a hundred times and as swiftly as our
Pope. Now for the ways of the world, now for the ways of God, and back
to old ways once more!


A WOMAN.

Why are Pasquino’s arms made creatures? See, a bull....


NOTARY.

The arms of the Borgia. Our Pasquin loves to bait that beast.


ANOTHER WOMAN.

And the snake?


NOTARY.

Hush! Am I Pasquino? The old prophet shall speak.

    [_He reads._

    Whelm the Bull-calves, O vengeful Tiber, deign
      To take them to thy raging breast;
    And let the monster-bearing Bull be slain,
       victim to Infernal Jove addressed.


VOICES.

Oh, oh, oh!


A FRIAR.

Rome were favoured, indeed, if Tiber had his glut.


A GERMAN PILGRIM.

To think the Pope could promise such good things, and not be able to
hold for the space of half a year.


MERCHANT.

Alexander Sixtus! A quivering reed after the breeze, valiant in power of
recovery. _Vivat diu bos, vivat Alexander!_


WOMAN.

His sorrow was too great.


A BANKER.

There is festa about him. All Lent--that is not our Pope. And there is
festa about the Bull-calves ... _Vituli_ ... the same race!


A MELON-SELLER.

Melons, ripe melons!

     [_The_ NOTARY _turns and reads to the people behind Pasquino.
     Laughter and murmurs. The market begins._ CESARE _and_ SANCIA _come
     out together from the church_. DJEM _lingers in the porch, which
     gradually fills with people from inside the church_.


SANCIA.

But you will lose her, Sultan Cesare, you will lose her. I am
irresistible; and Lucrezia’s husband is my brother.


CESARE.

You knew your destiny. You saved me the tedium of a siege.


     [_To_ DJEM, _pointing to the sellers of melons, peaches, grapes,
     and almonds, who clamour round_.

Djem, they are too forward. Can you not beat them off?


DJEM.

A nut, a nut! But, my gentle ones, a nut! A pistacchio for these teeth.
I bite the nut; then I bite you.

    [_He draws them, laughing, after him among the booths._


SANCIA.

You are bold--a Turk at mass! But I adore the purple. Young Cardinal
d’Este grows in my favour. He has eyes.... [_In a sudden fawning
voice._] But his eyes are not silver, they are brown, brown as
Giovanni’s.


CESARE.

Then to be extinguished.


SANCIA.

You will not hurt my little Cardinal--you will not? Ah, Paynim, had you
been chosen for me instead of Joffré!


CESARE.

You have chosen me instead of Joffré.


SANCIA.

My little Joffré is no more to me than the pet foal of the stables. If
His Holiness would grant divorce....


CESARE.

What may not His Holiness grant at my suggestion! Commend me by letter
to your cousin Carlotta. I shall meet her in France; persuade her to
desire me, and your Ippolito shall be safe. I would marry Naples, the
rightful line.


SANCIA.

For this you have flaunted me through the stone-staring church! You
Borgia! Always the trap in your mighty simpleness. A gull!--I hate you.
[DJEM _sidles up_.


DJEM.

Sweets, comfits of coriander. They are welcome? Madonna, you pick!
[SANCIA _turns from_ CESARE.

     [DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ARAGON, _with_ DONNA VANOZZA DE’ CATANEI,
     _comes up the church-steps from the back. They are in mourning. The
     Spanish Gentlemen of_ CESARE’S _train approach. Instinctively_
     LUCREZIA _lets her veil fall aside. Groups stand round her,
     admiringly._


LUCREZIA.

    Behold!

    [_Advancing and patting the jewelled clasp on his shoulder._

              O Cesare, this lovely guise!
    You make me feel
    A Princess and an Eastern Princess. Jewels
    And dusk of jewels.... Oh, the snowy turban--
    But I have never seen your eyes so blue.
    You will despise me in this mourning garb,
    Great Sultan.

    [_She half-closes her veil and looks round on the group._

    Mother, but your son is bowing,
    Is bowing low--salute him. By his side
    The Princess Sancia.


VANOZZA.

    I salute the Princess.


DJEM.

    [_Advancing to_ LUCREZIA.] And I--

     [_They bow. As_ LUCREZIA _turns from her mother the Spaniards
     engage her in talk_. CESARE _stands a little aloof, his eyes on his
     mother_.


DJEM.

      [_Returning to him._] Don Cesar, but you comprehend
    This pearl is for the merchant-men and not
    For any private owner in the world:
    She must not walk with mothers.


CESARE.

    [_Absently._] Then convert her!
    You can convert a woman in a trice
    To any worship, if you worship her.


DJEM.

      [_Returning to_ LUCREZIA.] You are the moon,
    The crescent moon. I have seen that in the church.


LUCREZIA.

    You have seen the moon beneath our Lady’s feet.


DJEM.

    You are the Lady. [LUCREZIA _laughs irrepressibly_.


VANOZZA.

    Come, Lucrece, away!


CESARE.

      But have you, little mother, eyes too pious
    To own your son?


VANOZZA.

                        I cannot understand.
    You are drest as a Turk.


CESARE.

    [_Catching_ DJEM’S _arm_.] This is my brother.


VANOZZA.

      Hush, hush! An infidel!
    And your own brother....


SANCIA.

                            Ah, so lately murdered!
    Madonna de’ Catanei, I condole.


LUCREZIA.

      Peace, Sancia!
      [_To_ VANOZZA.] This noble Turkish Captain
    Is brother to the Sultan: Cesare
    Instructs him in our Church’s mysteries.


DJEM.

      I am instructed; it is excellent.
    A good Church!


CESARE.

                      Mother, this is ill-behaved;
    You are not quite yourself.
                                Give me your blessing....
    Here is the sacred spot.

    [_He bends and points to his tonsure in the midst of his turban._

                        --Then pass away
    To the dark shrines and weep!
    Mother!


VANOZZA

    [_Shaking her head._] I have no blessing. I refuse.


CESARE.

    Then pass away to the dark shrines and weep!

    [VANOZZA _goes slowly up the steps to the church_.

    Hither, Lucrezia, hither! Through the market
    For the last time while I am Cardinal!
    Hither, sweet boon-fellow!


LUCREZIA.

    [_Pulling at the fringe of his turban._] But call her back.


CESARE.

      How fares His Holiness? You cannot dance
    While there are ghostly footsteps on the stair;
    But you can entertain him, make him laugh,
    Till the sunny tears
    Break out from all the creases of his eyes,
    With the report of Djem before the shrines,
    Cesare so profoundly heretic
    He may no more be Cardinal.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Showing her small teeth as she smiles._] Come on!
    I will report with great fidelity.
    I will report
    Djem is a Christian and must be baptized.
    But you! Now as I am your boon-fellow,
    And for the laughter of His Holiness,
    Let us make sport together.... Comfits, Djem!

     [_They plunge down into the market-place; the people gather and
     follow them like a train._


CONFUSED VOICES.

    _Vitula!_ She is for Tiber!
   --Her new husband is there in the Vatican.
   --Her last husband has told us ... it is not to be spoken.
   --That Turk might be her bridegroom.
   --We know he is her brother.
   --Where is Don Alfonso?
   --Berenice!
   --Pasiphaë!
   --And she laughs like the sky of the first year!
   --Her throat--its pearls are but shadows.
   --She is beautiful as the good Madonna.


SCENE II

_The Vatican; Sala dei Pontifici._

     _A secret Consistory. The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _surrounded by his_
     CARDINALS _in their purple_. DON GARCILASO DE LA VEGA, _Spanish
     Ambassador, and other Ambassadors_.

     _The_ LORD CARDINAL CESARE BORGIA _is in the midst of an appeal to
     the_ CARDINALS. _The_ POPE _is watching him, breathless_.


CESARE.

    ... From my most early years
    I have been secular. Not the least vocation
    Is found in me, not in my secret thoughts,
    Not in my will, not anywhere within me.
    Therefore I sit apostate in your midst,
    And therefore do you wrong; therefore I taint you,
    Beside you, and no more your peer. Most humbly
    I pray you to release me from my vow.

    [_There is a guttural murmur._


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                                            As you have urged
    Both eloquently and without offence
    Ere this dispute grew hot, His Blessedness
    Constrained you in this matter: trust his wisdom.
    So Heaven puts shackles on us in our youth,
    That in our years we may walk free, Heaven’s choice
    Become our privilege.


CESARE.

                          I have received
    Rich benefices; I resign them all.


DON GARCILASO.

      For league with France, for favours from a foe,
    For contract with your country’s enemies.
    Most hotly I protest.
      [_To the_ CARDINALS.] This renegade,
    If you will yield him to such infamy,
    Will still go on from false to false, forswearing
    His worldly obligations, as through you
    He would forswear his pledges to his God.
    The old alliances that prop this Chair--
    Naples and Spain--are mute, and all the parley
    With France. Take heed, take heed, my good lord Cardinals,
    How you raise up a Princedom.


CESARE.

      [_Turning his back on_ GARCILASO.] But more humbly
    I make petition. How the world esteems me,
    How slander rates me, when I am once unfrocked
    I will answer to the world. You were my peers,
    You are my judges, and from you I ask
    Simply for mercy. Of too great indulgence.
    I was admitted to your fair assemblage.
    Open the door!


DON GARCILASO.

                    He blazes as a god.
    Look, he is trembling! This humility
    Is nothing. He who says he cannot play
    The hypocrite is hypocrite in full,
    And plotting for his patron.


CESARE.

                                That is very truth:
    There, my Lord Cardinals, the word is just.
    I am plotting for my patron, for my sole,
    My unique benefactor.

    [_Raising and kissing the hem of the_ POPE’S _robe_.

                          In this habit
    I cannot serve His Holiness, whose creature
    I am, and all my faculties acute,
    Conjoined to serve him. I was born a soldier,
    Beckoned to war, and pointed to redemption--
    By steel, not holy water--of those lands
    Bedevilled, once the Church’s heritage.
    ’Tis as a Captain
    I speak and of my nature. Give me freedom,
    A little time ... the rest His Holiness
    Shall publish to you of my wars and fortune.


CARDINAL LOPEZ (_Spanish_).

    Stay!
    The Scriptures tell us there are many gods
    And lords as many....


DON GARCILASO.

                                True! Lord Lucifer
    Is one of them, and he is kept in bonds
    By God’s divine discretion.


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    Gently!


DON GARCILASO.

      Why set him up aloft--why, why? Such eagles
    Have dropped down tortoises on shining pates.
    Look to your safety!


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                        Yet we need not shear
    Our Samson of his martial strength: Delilah,
    And not the Lord, put tonsure on that head.

    [_The_ POPE _laughs in his robe_.


CARDINAL OF LISBON.

      But all this jesting
    Is little to the point, and the point is grave.
    Release him--but we cannot. He is bound,
    As we, by vows that irk and must be borne.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Softly._] We do not speak it by the Holy Ghost,
    But to your private ear and as a Spaniard;
    Such benefices as are vacant now,
    And such as shall be vacant by your leave,
    We shall dispose....
                            Ambassador, your monarch
    Will own us friendly as we fill those Sees.
    But, look, we tax too much this youthful patience!
    Give your decision, as the Heavenly Dove
    Whispers you, fluttering on from head to head.

    [_There is murmured discussion for awhile._

      [_Very softly._] Thirty-five thousand florins are renounced,
    Are in our hands for gift.
                                O mercy, mercy, mercy!
      [_Pointing to_ CESARE.] Do you not know
    Such guilt is clung about him he must perish
    If still he live in blasphemy. I plead,
    I am pleading for his soul. Think, there are frocks in Hell;
    Think of the scandal
    His licence breeds if we deny him marriage:
    While he is in the Church no reformation
    Can spread against his check.
    It is as if you all--each one of you--
    Sealed with your sapphires his eternal ruin.
    I forced him to this habit, and behold him!
    He has never crooked the knee. Look there, my Lords,
    Look there--Achilles peering from disguise....
      [_Chuckling._] Pardon, my Lords, as from his maiden dress.
    Mine is the fault, the error. Shall he sulk
    Useless among his tents?


CESARE.

      [_Kneeling._] Before you
    I plead for liberty--and, being released,
    Whom should I serve save him who honours me,
    Fixing on me his love, on me who have no merit,
    Nor any place nor office in the world
    Except to love him back?

     [_There is low discussion for a space._ DON GARCILASO’S _voice is
     heard--“Bought; I protest, I will protest till death_.” CARDINAL
     SEGOVIA _advances_.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      Be comforted, O Blessèdness!
      [_To_ CESARE.] Farewell, farewell,
    Lord Cardinal; excel, as in our ranks you cannot.
    Though often bitter to us in your mood,
    Our skies will miss the lightning and the light
    Without you, and our skies are colourless.


FRENCH AMBASSADOR.

      The Duke of Valentinois--so my king
    Greets you with patents disembarked to-day.

     [_The_ CARDINALS _and_ AMBASSADORS _press round_ CESARE _to
     congratulate; he smiles and bows. Then they break into groups and
     disperse._


CESARE.

      [_Between his teeth._] Our obstacles
    No more in our condition! Solitary!
    No longer of a flock!

     [_He turns towards the_ POPE, _who, unnoticed, has remained sitting
     on his throne, his hands stretched on his knees_. CESARE _steals
     quietly to his father_.

                          I shall not leave you,
    Not ever, not like Joffré, for a wife.
    You shall not sit there looking lone--beside you,
    Father, a power we have not measured yet,
    That we shall measure. After all my wars,
    And all my wars will be to draw you peace,
    I shall return.
                    Kiss me.


ALEXANDER.

                              My heart,
    No blessing--oh, a kiss!


SCENE III

     _A room in the Palace of Santa Maria in Porticu belonging to_ DONNA
     LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ARAGON. DONNA LUCREZIA _sits at the head of a
     couch_; DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS _lies along it_. _They are both
     dressed in white satin, embroidered with gold and pearls._


LUCREZIA.

    You have seen the little mother?


CESARE.

                                        To what end?
    My mother?--No, Lucrezia.


LUCREZIA.

                              Then some farewell message
    That I may comfort her. You start for France,
    Cesare, and you leave us for a bride.


CESARE.

      What of our mother
    In my alliance? Dead forgetfulness!
    O Beauty, we are passing on our ways
    Of policy; we must pass eagle-eyed,
    For we have thrones to conquer.
                                    Curse your Naples!
    I would be wedded there.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Stroking his eye-brows._] There I am wedded;
    Therefore no curse.


CESARE.

    [_Suddenly turning and resting his elbow on her knee._

                        Lucrece, do you like this boy
    We call your husband? Will he move your love;
    Will you forget your godhead?


LUCREZIA.

      Do not forget that you yourself have chosen
    My husband for me.


CESARE.

                        ’Tis but for a season.
    We keep the paces of the gods, and all
    Our actions are as theirs irrelevant
    Beside ourselves, as we conceive ourselves.
    Lucrezia, do but feel how thick my hair
    Is brushing up beside the little tonsure!
    There springs the Cesar. You have seen me amble
    Beside Giovanni’s stallion on my mule....
    And I am tempered through and through for war.
    While others all day long were waging battle,
    I have gone out to chase--oh, think of it!--
    That I might follow some mean animal,
    And catch the sound of Mars across the lake.
    ... Your fingers press me ...
    Why is their touch less soft?


LUCREZIA.

                                  You so desired
    What now you have.


CESARE.

    Giovanni....


LUCREZIA.

    Yes? [_She waits but he says nothing._
            Poor Giovanni! We have enemies.


CESARE.

    We have. I silence yours. Are you all tears?


LUCREZIA.

      You start for France--
    Give me some charge. We part so suddenly....
    His Holiness....


CESARE.

                        Be gamesome to our father
    While I am absent, for he has a trick
    Of dwindling down as Tiber on his bed,
    Parched Tiber on his bed, when I withdraw.
    We are his twin divinities, his Pollux,--
    Since Castor is by chance thrust out--his Pollux,
    And his most gracious Helen.... The rare smile,
    The cypher smile! Your spells are on again.
    Our father loves the dance--dance to fatigue.


LUCREZIA.

    _Pas seul_; I cannot!


CESARE.

    Then....

     [_Springing up, he lightly takes her hand, and, looking into each
     other’s eyes, they dance a slow measure._

      [_As they break off._] This is the perfect spectacle, I own;
    This swells the veins upon the father’s brow.
    But thou canst dance,
    Lucrezia, to thyself as airily
    As any creature of the air: dance thus.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Laughing._] Oh, I will dance to giddiness, and yet
    So slow it is the dance within a jewel,
    And infinite movement in a prisoned spark--
    The poets say. I heed them not.


CESARE.

    How wisely!


LUCREZIA.

    To you I dance.


CESARE.

                      Oh, when you speak
    From the bosom of your silence.... Little, fair One,
    But you are dull; I want you
    To feel how great are the fresh lusts that haunt me,
    And with complaisance take their part and smile.

    [_Lifting her hand to his breast and keeping it there._

    Once and for ever--and you falter now!


LUCREZIA.

    [_Closing her eyes._] You are no more a priest....


CESARE.

                          O little, fair One,
    That deadly languor
    Of being a priest, cut off! You draw a cry,
    An anguish from me. When I am a king
    You are my counterpart, for evermore
    A place beside me vacant, or your throne.
    When I am Emperor, still I have chosen you
    My counterpart. We played, a little flock,
    Luis, Giovanni, Joffré--you and I
    Were sole to one another.


LUCREZIA.

    [_Standing apart._] We are sole.

    [CESARE _scrutinises her a long time, then says suddenly_.


CESARE.

      Come, little Venus,
    Come with me, see the cramoisie, the jewels
    For Cesar’s wedding triumph, for the Duke
    Of Valentinois’ progress. All my trappings
    Are gold--_d’or frizé_: thirty thousand ducats
    Lie in the damasks of my equipage.
    I will put on my doublets--and you too
    Shall try them on.


LUCREZIA.

    Fie, fie! [_She hastily takes a veil and mask._


CESARE.

      [_Leading her to the door._] What readiness!--
    Answering, as a woman should, with answer
    So even to my pleasure. [_A knock._
                            Ah, is that your husband?
    Who is it knocks? [_He moves away and masks._


LUCREZIA.

    But enter!

    [_The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _stands at the door_.


CESARE.

    [_With a short laugh, unmasking._] Oh, my father!


LUCREZIA.

    But enter, enter, Holiness.


ALEXANDER.

      [_To_ CESARE, _as he embraces_ LUCREZIA.] My heart,
    Where do you draw the sweetheart? Cesare,
    Stay--let her breathe the morning to me. Where
    Would Cesare conduct you?


LUCREZIA.

                                  Blessèd Father,
    To show me all his jewelled taffetas
    And cloth of gold, brocades and silver damasks.


ALEXANDER.

      His! He will look a Phœbus
    That rose and clomb in gold. But for my daughter--
    Her eyes shall rest on veils enmeshed of light,
    Darting their gems of parti-coloured flash
    On stuffs dark-grained enough to set them free,
    Or of a tissue white to blandish them.
    You need not view his gauds, Lucrece.
                                            It is immoment
    For her to learn your worldly splendour, boy,
    She, who is treasure.
                            Sweet, yet we will chuckle
    At all the benefices in his stars
    Of gems, his satins. Lead on, Cesare;
    For we will go together, laugh together.


SCENE IV

     _The French Court at Chinon._

     KING LOUIS XII. _and the_ LORD CARDINAL GIULIANO DELLA ROVERE
     (_afterwards_ POPE JULIUS II.)


LOUIS.

      César de France!
    This gold-haired bastard, with his dubious eyes
    And sullen majesty, each day more splendid
    In silks and gold, more sullen every hour
    Behind his patient smile.... Mon Dieu, mon Dieu
    How I have toiled to wed him, and content
    The Pope, who has contented
    My happiness, divorcing my sad wife,
    And joining to my crown my Breton Queen--
    How I have toiled! If César wants a crown,
    Then in Carlotta he espoused the claim:
    But Naples and his daughter would not listen.


GIULIANO.

    He wants a crown!


LOUIS.

    Monseigneur Jules as you a triple crown--
    Son of Ligurian peasants!


GIULIANO.

                              Ay,
      Of Italy’s own soil. But as the vines
    Breed flavour by the sod, Liguria
    Creates in me survivance to ascend
    The Throne my uncle Sixtus made august,
    Holding each force ingenerate in man
    Executive, building as Titans build.
    Only Rodrigo Borgia’s Spanish gold
    Has kept me unachieved, to bear the sorrow
    Of Destiny’s elect that wait their star:
    There is prepotency in such. This bastard
    Tears through his day--a comet--to his fall.


LOUIS.

                                  O Seigneur Dieu!
    What bombast and vain glory in his coming.
    The Kings of Fez or Ethiopia
    Climb out of fewer jewels: our street-gazers
    Have scarcely drawn their breath since he passed by,
    The little Duke we titled Valentinois!
    Yet, by all saints, he loads the air with sway
    Of such duplicity and blandishment,
    He puts such grace about magnificence,
    Such a cold and heat about his speech--I, Louis
    Of France, have promised
    Soldiers to win him land, my niece to marry.
    The papers all are signed. Acquaint the Pontiff,
    With largest swell of triumph, Charlotte D’Albret
    Of the blood royal is his César’s bride.
    _Cor meum_--so he names this slip of his!
    And he has been in fury like the Bull
    Of his escutcheon at the scarlet waving
    Of royal-hearted, contumacious Naples.
    Felicitate our weary guest. The lady
    Shall meet him in your presence. Saint Denys,
    This unfrocked bastard of a priest, what order,
    Or what precedence notes him, even his birth
    Is sacrilege--he bows too low! God grant me
    One day to set my face against his prayer!

    [_Exit_ KING LOUIS.


GIULIANO.

      God grant that to Pope Julius! _Domine,
    Exaudi me, Pater omnnipotens!_
    I hate these Borgia! At their corner-stone,
    Where lie their votive gifts of blood and gold
    To Fortune, I will shake them--though, in exile,
    I serve them for a while, to please this monarch
    Whose voice can triple-crown.

_Enter_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS.

                                  Illustrious,
    I give you joy--a bridegroom, formerly
    A Cardinal--much joy!


CESARE.

                                Thanks! Are campaigns of war
    As tedious as these contracts? Naples first....
    Naples will rue her part.


GIULIANO.

    And then old D’Albret.


CESARE.

      His clutch on ducats and on documents!
    My lord, you have reported....


GIULIANO.

      That the King hangs his wrist upon your shoulder,
    That you have won all hearts, all company,
    And now a bride is won--the Fleur-de-Luce.


CESARE.

      More! I have royal pledge
    Of aid to raise an army that will conquer
    The Castles of Romagna for the Church.


GIULIANO.

      I give you joy, seeing you never yet
    Have formed a line of battle, grouped your pieces....


CESARE.

    Did Mercury have lessons for the lyre,
    Or Hercules in wrestling? Were they not born
    Each to his art’s perfection?


GIULIANO.

    Rarely spoken!

_Re-enter_ KING LOUIS _with_ MADEMOISELLE CHARLOTTE D’ALBRET.


LOUIS.

      Mon Duc de Valentinois,
    I bring our Dian’s youngest nymph, our Queen’s
    Sixteen-year maiden. Grow acquainted! Lotta,
    You will be well contented with this bridegroom,
    As young as he is handsome.

     [CESARE _kisses her hand and leads her to a couch, sitting by her_.


CESARE.

                                Madame, we are wedded,
    A maytime couple, in two days.
    Lord Giuliano, tell his Holiness:
    Do not delay your letters.


LOUIS.

                              Come with me and write them,
    Monseigneur Jules.

     [_They withdraw, leaving_ CESARE _and_ CHARLOTTE D’ALBRET
     _together_. CESARE _remains passive: he holds a golden ball of
     perfume, snuffs, and plays with it_.


CESARE.

    So is the world my bauble....


CHARLOTTE.

    How sweet the fragrance!


CESARE.

                                  Do not touch it, child!
    Now, to be plain, I hear you pleaded hard
    That I should be your bridegroom. Have you courage
    To mate this dreaded Cesar?


CHARLOTTE.

                                Since Carlotta
    Refuses you.... [CESARE _starts up_.
                      If you will have the truth,
    As among royal princes, I am chosen
    To wed you by the King and by my father.


CESARE.

    [_Letting his hand fall softly on her._

    Princess, this is a colloquy of love.


CHARLOTTE.

    [_Lifting the hand and kissing it._

      Oh, then, lord César, then I take this hand;
    Then--you are mine.


CESARE.

    [_In a murmur, looking away._] I shall have lawful heirs.


SCENE V

     _A Hall of the Vatican with a Loggia at the back overlooking the
     Via just opened to Sant’ Angelo, that is seen in the distance
     dressed with flags._

     _In the Loggia several_ CARDINALS, _the_ LORDS FRANCESCO BORGIA,
     BARTOLOMEO OF SEGOVIA, GIOVANNI MICHELE, GIANSTEFANO FERRERI _and_
     GIAMBATTISTA ORSINI.

     _In the Hall are_ DONNA ADRIANA ORSINI, DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA
     D’ARAGON, DONNA SANCIA BORGIA, DONNA GIULIA FARNESE _and_ DON
     ALFONSO, PRINCE DUKE OF BISCEGLIA.


DONNA ADRIANA.

                        Already looking out;
    The balcony already crammed with watchers,
    That strain beyond the roofs! But this impatience
    Is almost genius in its quality.
    Poor children, you were hurried from your beds.


GIULIA.

      As if there were a fire; and I am sleepy.
    The early morning sleep, the beauty sleep
    Dashed from our eyes! I am not half awake;
    My eyes close, and I must to sleep again.


SANCIA.

                              You laggard, fie!
    You will be out of favour.


GIULIA.

                                  No!
    I shall please him better if I am asleep.
    He will not wake me,
    His Holiness remembers I am young.


ALFONSO.

    Young! If the young may take their fill of slumber--


LUCREZIA.

      Come, I so softly stirred you--come, the dawn
    Had not more softly coaxed you to awake.


ALFONSO.

    I am sick and gaping.


LUCREZIA.

    Hush!


SANCIA.

      To wake in Naples, not this deadly Rome--
    It is the air that kills!


ALFONSO.

                              A wish
    I echo from my heart. We are roused as slaves,
    As slaves put in subservient offices.


ADRIANA.

      To ride with Prince Squillace by your side
    After Duke Cesare is such distinction
    You need not sulk from, prince.


SANCIA.

    But we are dead afraid.


ADRIANA.

    Ah, you have cause!


SANCIA.

    What cause? Ippolito is fled.


LUCREZIA.

      Ippolito--your beautiful Ippolito!
    Poor little Sancia.

    [_Putting her arms round_ ALFONSO.

                        But you must not fly--
    Never again. Carissimo, I want you
    For the bloom of every hour.

     [_The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _enters with_ DON JOFFRÉ BORGIA. _They
     rise and do him reverence._ LUCREZIA _at once goes up to him_.


ALEXANDER.

                                My daughter,
    My child, you feel it....

    [_Taking her hand and laying it on his heart._

                              As my heart is beating,
    So beats your heart. There is within my substance
    A change, a miracle. Too great a coming
    And close descent of glory on my head!
    So drooped
    Our blessèd Lady at the infinite
    Assault of the Almighty. In my bosom
    How can I crush such agony of joy
    As to receive a Prince,
    A Governor, a Counsellor, all names
    Of prophecy in one....


ADRIANA.

      Render to Cesar what is Cesar’s--praise
    For a most rare agility. The triumph
    He wills is Pagan. He is young.


ALEXANDER.

      Half the Romagna vanquished, Imola,
    Forli with battered walls, and the Virago,
    Fierce Catarina Sforza, like a Queen
    Of Amazon, our Theseus’ prisoner.


SANCIA.

    For sixteen days she held his arms at bay.


ALEXANDER.

    The seventeenth found her ringed around with fire.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Assuagingly._] Dear father,
    Think of our Cesar--he is coming home;
    We shall embrace him!
    No--you are crying? He will wear the collar
    Of the king’s gift. It makes me laugh for gladness.
    Laugh too! I must not cry.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Crying and laughing as he clasps her._] Alfonso, hopeless
    The hope that ever you will sunder us!
    She is eternal to me as my saints;
    She saves me from all sorrow by her smile,
    And she is ever smiling.


ALFONSO.

                            Then indeed her frowns
    She must give me, and I shall take them if
    She has not given them away before.
    A husband should have something of his own.


ALEXANDER.

      Ho, child, we eat with varying appetite,
    With varying zest: we savour as our palates
    Extract the essences. I savour her.
    La, la, I speak but as a fool, and gladly
    You cannot suffer fools, not being wise.


ALFONSO.

    [_Kissing her neck._] See, Father!


ALEXANDER.

                                      Bacchus, she is blushing red!
    My goblet full of pearls has left her marble.
    Out on her, out! I must console myself!

    [_Pushing her to_ ALFONSO _and approaching_ GIULIA.

    Here is my idol, my carnality,
    My rose of the flesh--how warm!


ADRIANA.

    Lucrezia wrapped her thus.

    [_The_ POPE _nods; then advances to the Loggia_.


ALEXANDER.

      Heigh, sentinels,
    What recognition of this enemy
    Who takes so easily our sacred streets,
    For whom our women don their best attire?

    [_He shakes with laughter._

    This is too scandalous! The balconies,
    The heads in wreaths--the mothers and the daughters--
    Fie! But the mothers do not move me.

    [_Turning to_ GIULIA FARNESE _whom_ SANCIA _has awaked_.

                                            Giulia,
    Look forth, my child. No, do not fix your gaze
    On me, on what I look at.


GIULIA.

                              Holiness,
    I fix my eyes on you that you may fix
    Your eyes full on La Bella.


ALEXANDER.

                                Ha, ha! Morning dew
    Salutes us with more dazzle than at eve.
    Sleep has been kind.


GIULIA.

                              But I am drowsy still.
    It is not well I should so early stir;
    And I must sleep; I am so young.


ALEXANDER.

                                        A flower--
    You please me well--a poppy-lidded flower!
    Lord Cardinals,
    With your lynx-eyes what do you track beyond
    The open street?


CARDINAL MICHELE.

                      Standards, long lances
    At Ponte Milvio.


ALEXANDER.

                        Ha! We shall be surprised:
    This victor travels as he made retreat.
    Come, Joffré, you have learnt your part: or is it
    Alfonso plays the squire when he alights?
    But start each one of you; in rivalry
    Toil for the privilege.


ALFONSO.

                          To hold the stirrup!
    I must decline: I cannot stoop so far.


ALEXANDER.

      Prince of Squillace, you will hold the stirrup,
    And in your company take Don Alfonso.


ALFONSO.

    My wife forbids me leave her.


LUCREZIA.

                                          Nay, Lucrezia
    Has never said _forbid_. I yield my husband
    For just this hour, knowing that all his hours,
    And mine--even Cesare’s--are but one glass

    [_Kissing the_ POPE’S _hand_.

    This hand may run the sands of at its pleasure.
    Go, and be mannerly.

    [_Exeunt_ DON JOFFRÉ _and_ DON ALFONSO.


SANCIA.

                          It seems
    This bridegroom travels homeward with no bride.
    Is he ashamed that, jewelled to the eyes,
    He could not win my cousin’s hand--Carlotta’s?

    [_The_ POPE _takes_ SANCIA’S _fan from a table and tears it_.


ALEXANDER.

    His bride is Italy.


SANCIA.

    I thought she was of France.


ALEXANDER.

      He is of France. The fleur-de-luce is broidered
    On his banners with our Bull. César de France,
    Of Italy--the world. You may retire
    From our presence: later we will give you rooms
    Convenient in Sant’ Angelo. [_Exit_ SANCIA.
                                Fair ladies, Adriana,
    I warn you that this Charlotte of Navarre
    Is of no further interest than a city
    Captured and left behind. The confidences....

    [_Pinching_ LUCREZIA’s _chin_.

    What have you heard, Discretion? Not the story....
    Enough!
    We no more lose our Cesar for a wife,
    Treasure, then we have lost you in a groom.

    [_Turning to the_ CARDINALS.

    Francesco, there is flutter in your robe,
    You crane your neck. What of the cavalcade?


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    We cannot see it yet.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                            We can but see the flags
    Beating the sky about Sant’ Angelo.


CARDINAL MICHELE.

      The cavalcade itself we shall not see,
    Not till the cannon roar at its approach.

     [_The_ POPE _sinks down exhausted in his chair and closes his
     eyes_.


ALEXANDER.

      Triumphs--St. Peter!...
                              In a bossy car,
    Its base the wide spine of an elephant,
    Rode Alexander into Babylon,
    Invincible, my namesake and a god.
    But not for me the riding, not the shouts,
    Though mine the empire: it is Cesar, Cesar,
    Who comes to Rome, and this is Cesar’s triumph.
    The chariots and the laurels and the helmets,
    The antique cuirasses and helmets--laurels
    Fresh from my gardens: we will act it all
    Before the eye to-morrow, and translate
    This modern triumph into classic glory,
    As epitaphs go down in sounding Latin
    To generations after. Cesar’s Triumph!
    Burcardus shall arrange the pomp, the order,
    The circuit of the pageant. Alexander ... Cesar ...
    Cesar....

    [_The cannon boom, all rush to the Loggia._


LUCREZIA.

    [_Running to her father as if for protection._

      O Holiness, but he is coming now!
    Oh!


ALEXANDER.

    Out to the Loggia! Cease your clinging, child!
    You check my haste, you flutter,
    And check me.

    [_There is tumult of cannon, shouting and trumpet-blasts._

    [_In the Loggia._] O my lords, where is he, where?
    [_Looking down._] My God, what splendour! But ...


LUCREZIA.

                      See, see, that simple rider
    In black, the foil to all--you know him, father!
    You see his collar of Saint Michel gleam;
    His hair in golden circle--Cesare!


ALEXANDER.

    A presence, oh, a presence! Recollect,
    Daughter, we must receive him as the Pope
    Receives his Captain-General. He is riding
    As in a picture.... Help, Lord Cardinals, help me!
    Is the Triregno set about my head
    With nicety? This jewel flames aside,
    That should be central. Shift my cope. There, there!
    We will go in and take the throne.


LUCREZIA.

    [_Throwing a kiss down._] He has alighted, father.

    [_The_ POPE, _seated, waits, his Court round him_.


ALEXANDER.

    How this remoteness enervates! Come, come, come, come!

     [_The door is thrown open_, DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS _stands
     gravely on the threshold and makes a deep reverence_. _He is
     presented by_ MONSIGNORE BURCHARD _and followed by_ PRINCE DON
     JOFFRÉ _and_ PRINCE DON ALFONSO, _the_ GENERALS _of his staff, and
     the accompanying_ CARDINALS _and_ AMBASSADORS.


CESARE.

      [_With another deep reverence_]. Your Holiness,
    How can I thank you for the benefits
    That even in absence weighed me with the blessing.
    Of your great recollection.


ALEXANDER.

                              No, my son, the Church
    Would give you thanks upon my lips for service
    Of princely measure--service....

     [_As_ CESARE _bends to kiss the_ POPE’S _foot_, ALEXANDER, _with a
     passionate gesture, catches him in his arms_.

                                  Cesare!
    My son! Superb this beauty! Home at last,
    Son of my bowels!


CESARE.

                        Holiness, your captain,
    Your servant, and your creature.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Close to his ear._] No, no, no, my son
    By nature, my dear flesh, my very substance
    Gone out to victory! Rise! Rise! We must not
    Beggar all welcomes other than our own.
    Donna Lucrezia--see!... Children!

     [PRINCE ALFONSO _has come to her and holds her by the hand_.


CESARE.

                            A loving couple!
    Though one of them fled off awhile ago.
      [_To_ ALFONSO.] Lured back?
                                Lucrezia, do you welcome me?
    Then welcome me with hands and lips.

     [_She drops_ ALFONSO’S _hand and goes quickly up to_ CESARE.

    [_As he kisses her._] Come home!




ACT III


SCENE I

_The Vatican--Sala dei Pontifici._

_The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _and_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO.


ALEXANDER.

    How high the storm is rumbling! Crack! What fell?
    Look through the window.


POTO.

                                    ’Tis an old ilex-bough,
    That sails along like a black, ruffled swan
    A space above the ground.


ALEXANDER.

                                      Draw in, draw in, draw in,
    My light of service, Gaspare--the wind
    Would, if it could, extinguish you.
                                      Go yonder!
    Set further in upon the table there
    That vase ... enamel with the whirl-blast round it,
    And the enamel matchless! Did you tell me
    My lord Antoniotto Pallavicini
    Waits for an audience? Of a truth, the tempest
    Drove not His peace from Christ within the ship.
    Well--introduce the Cardinal St. Praxede. [_Exit_ POTO.
    Vespers will sound directly; but the bell
    Of the old, dying day will shape a tinkle
    In this mad, hammering gale, and no one hear.

    [_Re-enter_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO _with the_ LORD
    CARDINAL ANTONIOTTO PALLAVICINI.]

    Good even, lord Antoniotto.


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

                                          Holiness,
    What wind!


ALEXANDER.

      Santi, it wrenches everything it handles--
    No touching, but possession. Lord Antoniotto,
    You come to seek the dispensation. Poto
    Will tell you when I reached my bed last night;
    Yet with all industry your business lingered
    Still far beyond my goal. I crave your patience.
    So many festivals this jubilee,
    Processions, triumphs! O my Lord Cardinal,
    Think--and the great rejoicing yesterday
    When our young Duke received from Holy Church
    The Order of the Mystic Rose that blossoms
    Upon the banks of the abundant rivers--
    Crown of the Church triumphant, militant.
    My lord, the pity you were held at sea,
    Delayed at Ostia too! Our Duke knelt down;
    He took the emblem, kissed the hand, and kissed
    The foot of Christ’s vicegerent; then together
    We stood erect, and he advanced; for once
    He went before me--that was joy!--before me,
    The Rose in his right hand, the hovering Dove
    On his beretta, with its fretted rays,
    A nimbus round him from the monster pearls,
    And he before me like a star of heaven!
    You have heard the Sacred College makes him Vicar,
    Duke of Romagna, Count of Imola,
    Forli? There were some seventeen Cardinals
    Signed, when I signed the Bull.


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

    And I away from Rome!


ALEXANDER.

      Poto, shut down that casement.
                                      Hoo! I shiver--shiver!
    A cold so keen and violent.


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

                                        I will aid him.
    Your Holiness is prudent.
    [_At the window._] What a shock
    And surge among the roofs.

    [_With a crash the ceiling falls in over the_ POPE.

                                          O God!
    What is it? What has happened?
                                    Is he dead?


POTO.

    Oh, oh, oh! The Pope is dead.


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

                                    The Pope
    Is dead, is dead.

     [_They rush out to the_ GUARD--_a cry down the galleries “The Pope
     is dead!”_


POTO.

      [_Re-entering._] What horror!
    His Blessèdness, where is he? Jammed behind
    Those ribs of vaulting--but the throne still stands,
    Veiled by a dais-curtain.

     _Re-enter the_ LORD CARDINAL ANTONIOTTO PALLAVICINI _and the_ PAPAL
     GUARD. _The vesper bell begins to ring._

    O my lord, look there!

    [_They discover the_ POPE.


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

      Ah, God on earth, he keeps his throne! Not dead;
    See, see, he moves the ruin from his hands.


POTO.

      His brow bleeds.... [_to Guard._] Gently, the great daïs-nails
    Will harrow up his arm.


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

                            But he is still as death!
    Now pass him through the crevice the dropped vaultings
    A-tilt have made.

    [_They bring the_ POPE _out and raise him slowly on his feet_.


ALEXANDER.

    Yes ... to my room,

    [_He is helped into the next chamber._


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

    Thank God!

_Enter_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA.


CESARE.

                    My father ...
    The Lord Lorenzo Chigi is stone-dead
    Above.... My father!


CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.

                              Excellency, safe;
    But hurt, but bleeding.


CESARE.

                          Publish wide the news;
    Shout his escape! Send doctors, send the best--
    The Bishop of Venosa.

    [_Exit into the_ POPE’S _chamber_.

     [CARDINAL PALLAVICINI _goes out, as_ CARDINALS _and_ PHYSICIANS
     _pass in_.

_After a while_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ARAGON _enters and stands
waiting till some one passes out of the bed-chamber_.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      [_Passing out._] Your Excellency, the Pope’s Holiness
    Has at the very edge of death been spared.


LUCREZIA.

    I am so thankful! [_Physicians come out._


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

      Nothing of danger! He is torn, he is shaken.
    He asked for you.


LUCREZIA.

    I will go straight.


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

                                          No, no, Madonna,
    He is asleep, and even your steps would rouse him!
    He will demand you later as his nurse,
    His cook, his smiling comfort. God be thanked!

    [_They pass out._


LUCREZIA.

      I am so thankful ...
    That chasm--the marbles in their deadly blocks,
    I feel them as their falling were on me.
    Cesare! [_He comes out of the chamber._


CESARE.

    Pearl, how white!


LUCREZIA.

      But you are whiter far. You are not hurt?
    Cesare, are you reeling? Take my hand.


CESARE.

      Nothing--a chasm.... As from the pit of hell,
    When I look up through this destruction, up!
    I will not look. It is all over now;
    That snatch of Chaos is an empty mouth.
    The tower fell--four were killed above this room;
    No matter there, nor who.... But have you thought,
    Lucrezia, how brief our dazzled hours?
    This tower a’crumble, had it buried him,
    Instead of bruising! Diva, we are gods,
    But all Olympus perishes with Jove,
    And Jove we know must perish. Come away!
    I will conduct you.


LUCREZIA.

                        No, no, Cesare.
    There will be need to swiftly publish forth
    A Brief to calm the people from their fear.


CESARE.

      Lucrezia, but you lay
    The cool of softest snow to my hot brain.
    Our Queen of Beauty love you!


LUCREZIA.

                                  Take some wine--
    The light, white wine.... To-morrow we shall laugh
    At this big rent.


CESARE.

    Avernus, we shall laugh!

    [_They go out, the wind blowing on them from the gap._


SCENE II

     _The Vatican--a Loggia._ DON ALFONSO _and_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA
     D’ARAGON _are seated together. There are peaches on a golden dish
     by them, a golden wine-jug and goblet. Two quails and a peacock sun
     themselves on the ground. A monkey plays with the ribbons of the_
     DUCHESS’S _dress; she wears white, with a green and gold veil
     twisted in her long hair_.


LUCREZIA.

    Why do you sigh?


ALFONSO.

                        You are so full of bliss--
    You contemplate me as I were a jewel.


LUCREZIA.

    You are, and mine.


ALFONSO.

    Why, you have many jewels.


LUCREZIA.

      The gift of others: but this jewelled thing
    Is you. Alfonso!--and the painters say
    You are the loveliest boy in Italy.
    You sigh again--why do you sigh? You shall not.

    [_She caresses him and offers him half of a peach._


ALFONSO.

                                              Ay, half--
    Half of a pleasure! I would have you all,
    And always. If I am to stay in Rome
    Is it to shun your brother up and down
    The streets of Rome, so to escape temptation?
    Even yesterday ... Lucrece, he concentrates
    Such fury in me as I look on him
    I shiver, and for hours, after long hours
    I find myself still trembling.


LUCREZIA.

    [_With deep acquiescence._] Yes....


ALFONSO.

                                              And you can suffer
    That I should bear the insult of his carriage;
    That is the wound: no flashing from your lips,
    When I am injured, and no least regret
    When you are summoned from me to confer
    With His Holiness apart, or by his side
    Parry the orators when they grow angry,
    And growl from their chafed monarchs.
                                              If to please you
    I stay in Rome....


LUCREZIA.

      [_Laying her hands firmly over his._] You are too young, impatient,
    To bear long audience of the orators.
      [_Twining her arm in his._] But come--why will you speak of yesterday
    Or of to-morrow? It is midsummer:
    Lucrezia is your own, Lucrezia
    So blissful in your arms that, malcontent,
    You sigh.


ALFONSO.

    I would you loved me less, I would
    You did not hold me here as in your clutches.
    Midsummer! I shall never see my own:
    I have seen you. Beauty, you have no season,
    Nor warmth, I think: you are a cruel goddess,
    That loves her mortal, and can let him die,
    Her fit of doting ended.


LUCREZIA.

    Will you quarrel?

    [_The_ POPE’S _voice is heard calling through the halls_.


ALEXANDER.

                                          Where is she?
    Lucrezia, Lucrezia! My little nurse!
    Lucrezia! [_He enters._


LUCREZIA.

    [_Rising with_ ALFONSO.] We are here, dear father.


ALEXANDER.

                                                          Ha!
    Feast of S. John, is this austerity?
    Skinning cool peaches in a vestibule?
    You should have seen the bull-fight, my fair Spaniard.
    Cesare....
    But he is Hercules! There, in his doublet,
    With his short sword he faced five bulls.
                                            I watched
    The issue, not the contest; for ... conceive!--
    Five spurting carcases, the animals
    So swiftly struck one could not draw one’s breath
    Between the passes. But the beasts were slain
    Before his presence as in sacrifice!
    The bloody smoke rose up as to a god.
    Ah, little Spaniard, and you kept the hour
    Toying with Naples.
      [_He gives a chuckling whistle._] An arena, child--
    Above a reeking tiger there was silence
    When Commodus, the golden-haired, stood up;
    But when our Spada smote, and at one blow down tumbled
    A huge, protesting head, the multitude
    Lifted a crowd of shouts into the sky,
    And saw no more; hearing was everywhere.
    Then, as the noise grew thinner, he emerged
    In beauty ... oh, an athlete! oh, a David!


ALFONSO.

      You must record this as a miracle.
    Does it belong, your Blessèdness,
    To Pagan legend or the Church?


LUCREZIA.

                                        To us.
    But I repent I did not see him there,
    Magnificent before all Rome.


ALEXANDER.

                                You sparkle!
    I pardon you. He scarcely will.

    [_The_ POPE _nods his head and rises to go_.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Detaining him._] A peach!...
    It is a little fountain
    That grottoes under cloud of this red skin.
    There, father, from my hand.

    [_The_ POPE _seats himself again_.

                                  And this dear Cesare,
    You will no more reproach him,
    When he grows dull and drowses in the sun:
    We let our lions drowse.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Eating the fruit._] Delicious!
    So cordial in its essence it revives,
    But sets the senses light enough to slumber.
    We let our lions drowse ...
                              I am drowsing now;
    A midsummer sweet napping. Guard my rest,
    Bright angels!
                      Nay, Alfonso, do not budge.
    I shall be fast asleep.

    [_The_ POPE _falls asleep; at intervals he snores_.


LUCREZIA.

      [_To_ ALFONSO.] Dear Blessèdness,
    How could you flee from him? Look, there is kindness
    In every crease of his face; look at his lips
    That almost bubble in his sleep with mirth
    And comfort that he takes in every pleasure.
    He never could make sorrowful, Alfonso.


ALFONSO.

    I did not flee from him.


LUCREZIA.

                              But you make sorrow,
    Alfonso, with your fears. You are growing restless,
    Restless again.
                    On this midsummer-day
    When even the little demons of the wood
    Are turned delighted into lovers’ elves,
    When all things take enchantment, even sin,
    And pardon waits if one should sin too deep
      [_Pointing to the_ POPE.] Of Heaven itself, shall we not be content?
    Shall we not cease from talking?


ALFONSO.

    [_Vehemently drawing her to his breast._] While he sleeps.


SCENE III

     _An apartment next to the Borgia Tower, which is reached by a
     passage on which the door gives._ DON MICHELOTTO CORELLA _stands in
     the centre, the door being open. Suddenly_ DUKE CESARE DE
     VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _comes to him in a blaze of passion_.


CESARE.

      Eigh, Michelotto, shall a vermin kill?
    Conceive! Alfonso flicked me with an arrow,
    Shot from the chamber where Lucrezia watches.


MICHELOTTO.

    The Duchess did not see?


CESARE.

                              It makes no matter,
    It is of no account.... Swift, Michelotto,
    A rope.... Conceive! This little pipe of breath,
    This spawn, this Naples sought the overthrow
    Of my large destinies ... and his kind Duchess
    Simmers the pipkin that he may not die
    Of poisoned food! Not even the sharp vendetta
    Of the Sanseverini fallen upon him
    A month ago has mangled him to death;
    He keeps his tower, mending his wounds apace.
    But, swish!--an arrow flies to end me.... Ecco!
    She is hard by, the silky wife grown fulsome,
    Dragged on a husband’s chain. Swift, Michelotto, swift!


MICHELOTTO.

      The poignard or the little rope? I serve you
    Close as my bone to flesh.


CESARE.

                              So God in silence
    Contracts with San Michele. Die for me----
    You were not such a fool! I choose who dies.
    Fetch me your instruments--the steel, the rope.
    Quick, and return! [_Exit_ MICHELOTTO.
                        I wait a thousand years!
    Aha, Carlotta, little Sancia too!
    Ay, and Lucrezia ... she can watch so much,
    I doubt not she was watching when he shot:
    She would not warn me--she has seen so much,
    And never stirred in tongue or eye.... But listen!

    [_He bends his ear toward the door._

    I hear the cooing voice; she sings to him.

    [LUCREZIA’s _voice is heard from the Borgia Tower_.

              Sweetest Mother,
              Thy suit is won:
              Flowers for thee,
              Flowers for thy Son,
              Flowers at thy knee
              For the Trinity!
    She is soothing him with little, airy notes,
    Like the rustle of the leaves.

     [_Re-enter_ MICHELOTTO. CESARE _opens his hands for the dagger and
     cord_.

                                O Michelotto,
    These jewels
    Have never shone so bright--steel, steel, and necklets
    Twisted and coiled so deftly round the throat
    The breath heaves up--then plumb back to its void.
    Conceal yourself.... I drag the women out....


MICHELOTTO.

      My lord, I cannot warrant
    Some little noise may lucklessly escape.


CESARE.

      Myself I will be present if you palter,
    Will watch his features crying for the air.
    Swift, swift---- [_He goes into the Borgia Tower._


MICHELOTTO.

                      His fangs drip blood!
    But she shall not suspect.
                                To the dark with me.

     [_He thrusts the door wide open into the passage and hides behind
     it._

     DUKE CESARE _re-enters, his right arm round_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA
     D’ARAGON, _while his left hand grips_ DONNA SANCIA BORGIA,
     _Princess of Squillace. The door is fastened behind them by_
     MICHELOTTO.


SANCIA.

    Loose, loose! It bites my wrist.
                                  Why do you bring us here?


LUCREZIA.

    You said that we must come.


SANCIA.

    Let loose; loose, Cesare!


CESARE.

      [_To_ LUCREZIA.] Sit there....
      [_To_ SANCIA.] You writhing viper.
    I fling you off!

    [_He pushes her away. She is at the door, trying the handle._


LUCREZIA.

    What is it?


CESARE.

    What?--White eyes, who shot the arrow?


LUCREZIA.

    Alfonso--


CESARE.

    In your sight!


LUCREZIA.

      [_Stroking him._] Your brow, your cheeks, your hands.
    No blood.... Alfonso--


CESARE.

    Do you plead for him?


LUCREZIA.

    You are safe....


CESARE.

    You sang to him. Is that your triumph?


LUCREZIA.

      That you were safe....
    The little song.... I sang it to myself.
    I sang.... [_A cry is heard._


CESARE.

    Fool Michelotto!


SANCIA.

    [_Breaking from the door, and crying to_ LUCREZIA.

      Can you not hear? Do you not understand?
    Are you of flesh or stone? They are killing him,
    As they killed Giovanni....
      [_To_ CESARE.] Murderer! For I know,
    Ah, now I know you are his murderer.
    You did the deed--you, you!
    She can forgive a brother’s death: I cannot!
    I am blood of Naples, and will be avenged.


LUCREZIA.

    Alfonso! [_She sits motionless._


SANCIA.

      Ay, Alfonso! He is murdered.
    I will be heard! [_She beats on the door._
    Lucrece, Lucrece! She could divorce one husband:
    Oh, she can sever!... Cold as death her eyes
    Beat on me. O Lucrezia, do you hear? [_She mutters._
    They are murdering my brother--he is murdered.
    Now all is gone to silence.... [_She sinks down in her sobs._


CESARE.

    [_To_ LUCREZIA.] Star, you fade!

     [LUCREZIA, _who has been looking up into_ CESARE’S _face, falls
     into a swoon_.

     DONNA ANGELA BORGIA _and_ DONNA CATILENA DE VALENCE _rush in,
     pressing the bolt aside: there is blood on the skirt of one of
     them. Awed by_ CESARE’S _aspect, they remain without speaking_.
     SANCIA _springs through the open door with a cry_.

    [CESARE _sways_ LUCREZIA _toward the_ MAIDS OF HONOUR.

    There, take her, Angela--she clings....


LUCREZIA.

    [_Coming to herself and looking round._] Alfonso?


CESARE.

    Cesar ... but weep your tears, your destined tears.

    [_He goes toward the door._


LUCREZIA.

    [_Moving from_ ANGELA _and following_ CESARE, _with a cry_.

    Alfonso!


ANGELA.

    Has she lost her wits?


CESARE.

      [_Arrested._] How wondrous
    She is! And she is wailing for a ghost!


LUCREZIA.

    [_With the same cry._] Alfonso!

     [_He turns away as she almost touches him and quickly leaves her._


ANGELA.

      [_With a gesture after_ CESARE.] Gone!...
    Look at her, look! She rises like a nymph
    In a cloud of water--look!


CATILENA.

    She is parted from us....


LUCREZIA.

    [_Suddenly falling from her height full length on the ground._

    Jesu miserere!


SCENE IV

     _The Stanze_, DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA’S _new
     apartments in the Vatican_.

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _has penetrated into them and looks
     round_.


ALEXANDER.

At last I have lodged him in the Vatican! But this is pleasure!... There
is perfume in the rooms--the first scent of jasmine? No, but his balls
of perfume ranged already in their order....

     [_Laughing as a two-year-old child crawls up to him from a
     tapestry._

      Ah, ah, and the babe too!--Giovanni!... So
    I named him, so, to speak once more the name.

    [_The child reaches up to him._

    Blue eyes! Come, come, no tears!
    Angel, I cannot be your nurse, I cannot.

    [_He passes on, slipping a rosary into the child’s lap._

    How he inhabits
    The air he breathes ... no need of clothing here,
    Embellishments and laces--all is Cesare,
    His lusts, his pride, his loneliness....

     [_The_ POPE _sits down and sighs twice or thrice heavily, drumming
     with his fingers on the table: then he catches sight of a design
     for_ CESARE’S _new scutcheon. He speaks in gasps._

    _Aut Cesar_--fie! _Aut nihil!_ He is Cesar;
    Duke of Romagna first,
    My bastard!--presently
    King of all Italy. Am I, indeed, his father?
    But if I am not, Roman Jupiter
    Stole to my couch and got him such a son
    As the whole earth acclaims. More beautiful
    He is growing day by day. We interact;
    We are together, or, if separate--
    He breeding armies and I breeding gold--
    What colloquy at nightfall.... And submissive,
    He is submissive toward me as Lucrece.
    What children these have been to me!

     _Enter_ DONNA FIAMMETTA: _she is a tall, perfectly fair young
     creature, of great dignity. She kneels._

                                      Ah, Fiammetta, welcome!
    Nay, ’tis your right, child.... Here I am intruder,
    In the Lord Cesar’s absence. Take my blessing.


FIAMMETTA.

    [_As she rises._] Lord Cesare bade me this hour ...

     [_The_ CHILD _cries_. FIAMMETTA, _looking for consent to the_ POPE,
     _lifts the little Prince in her arms_.


ALEXANDER.

                                                      It is
    The hour for worship. With discretion, child,
    You soon will be the mistress of a king.
      [FIAMMETTA _winces_.] Madonna!
    How like, how like! You are good. Why should you blush?
    You are good and honest ... and a strength of heart
    Is in you to bear princes. You will suckle
    One day a playmate for this royal child,
    Infans Romanus!


FIAMMETTA.

      [_Looking round in terror._] The Lord Cesare
    Bade me attend ...


ALEXANDER.

                            Scared at the Vatican,
    Seat of the gods, sweet child, and seat of Him
    Whose first command is Multiply! These chambers
    Are given to my son. But all these motley walls
    We will have re-created--fading frescoes,
    Of hands that moulder.... We will have your Cesar--
    Nay, we will have yourself set on a throne,
    Or rising ’mid the lilies ... not historic:
    In history there is no art; and life
    Is life and death, and never resurrection.
    My fair Fiammetta, we will have you painted.
    There is a prayer in your bright eyes--


FIAMMETTA.

                                            Lord Cesare ...
    And represented as King Solomon.


ALEXANDER.

    [_Patting her on the back._] Assuredly ... while David rests with God.

    [_The_ POPE _continues rubbing the frescoes with his hands_.

    All new--
    I will make all things new.

     CESARE _enters hurriedly and is already some distance in the room,
     when he sees the_ POPE, FIAMMETTA _and the_ CHILD. _He stops dead,
     and remains immovable. Under his eyes_ FIAMMETTA _puts the_ CHILD
     _down and goes out_. _The_ CHILD _watches the_ POPE _and_ CESARE
     _round-eyed, then creeps to the curtains and plays with the heavy
     tassels. The_ POPE _stands, with wrinkled forehead, uneasy_.


CESARE.

    [_With a wide smile._] You know that Prince Alfonso has been killed?


ALEXANDER.

      [_Trembling._] Killed?
    The boy was up and dressed, and felt his feet
    For the first time to-day.... Why do you stand there
    So overwhelming in your aspect, lofty
    As you had won a fortress? On my soul,
    And by the Holy Fisherman I swear,
    You frighten me.... And I regret the lad--
    A pretty, flaunting flower of pomegranate
    Jerked from the bough....

     [CESARE _remains immovable, muttering oaths between his teeth_.

                                        But we must cloak this death.
      [_Laying his hand on_ CESARE.] I will not listen; it is policy
    In most things to be ignorant.... You, Cesare,
    Must have the ordering of the funeral.
    Poor lad! A restless creature, like a dog
    That strays about your hearth, and may be here
    To-morrow or be gone--Satan that wanders
    The earth alone knows where.... But murdered!
    I think I will not know; my ears refuse
    All knowledge from you.... We must cloak this death
    Among ourselves.

    [_The_ POPE _turns away tottering_.


CESARE.

      We cannot:
    For his physicians said he would not die,
    But live, as pertinacious as a weed.
    It cannot and it shall not be a secret
    Why he was killed.


ALEXANDER.

    [_Turning sharply back on_ CESARE.] By whom?


CESARE.

    By me.

     [ALEXANDER _covers his face. A strange sound, half-moan, half-sob,
     breaks from him. There is long silence; then the_ POPE _looks at_
     CESARE _with a pale, aged face_.


ALEXANDER.

                                                          The boy
    Was young and fair; but scarcely crossed your path.


CESARE.

      His stealthy arrow did; he let it whizz
    Across the garden as I trod the grass.
    Such little splits of wood may in a moment
    End years of ripening fame. A month ago
    The hurried marble thundered down on you,
    To-day an arrow swept my hair. Say, Holiness,
    Would you prefer to have that lad of Naples
    Teasing your moments with his fears and murmurs
    Or me shot dead, our dead dreams under me?


ALEXANDER.

    My tawny Splendour, wherefore ask?


CESARE.

    [_Spreading his palms._] Then wherefore?


ALEXANDER.

    Cesare, the avowal!


CESARE.

    I killed in self-defence?


ALEXANDER.

                                Son, that you killed....
    Well, it is done!
                      Well, it is done!


CESARE.

                                          And if your Holiness
    Will deign to listen--do not let the tongue
    Be running and returning like a wheel:
    All gossip of my action,
    If you refrain, will end within his grave.
    Unless you speak there cannot be an echo.


ALEXANDER.

      Ay, ay--die out--the gossip will die out;
    Ay, ay, if you would have it so....
    The vaults? For we must bury him in private.


CESARE.

    [_As he nods._] Without bell-ringing and a storm of dirges.


ALEXANDER.

      Lucrece!
    Ah, she will weep her eyes out: rain, rain, rain,
    Above this broken flower, this bridegroom.


CESARE.

    Banish her.


ALEXANDER.

      I could not bear to see a lifelessness
    Of sorrow in the dear one.


CESARE.

                                Banish her.
    Unless you banish her,
    The Vatican nor any street in Rome
    Will see me.


ALEXANDER.

      She shall spend her tears at Nepi,
    At Nepi--my own gift to her--no exile!
    She shall retire where she is Governor,
    Attended and in honour. La, sweet child!
    The iris-sprinkled side-locks, amber sheaves,
    A widow’s! She, a dove of desert-waters,
    A widow!


CESARE.

                Let her keep
    Her dule ’mid dead volcanoes!

     [_He catches up the child, tosses it, and tumbles it on a couch
     against a large piombo cat._


ALEXANDER.

      [_As if watching._] ... Figliuolo,
    Luck is your Guardian Angel! Have you thought
    Romagna needs protection against Venice,
    Romagna that so soon will be your own?
    The Estes of Ferrara ... could we mate
    Lucrezia with the princely house! Ah, then, to northward
    You were impregnable. The heir is named
    Alfonso.... To a woman there is matter
    Of comfort in a name. For poor Alfonso--
    God rest his soul!--who now is lying dead,
    Alfonso d’Este shall be sought for her.


CESARE.

    [_Abruptly leaving his game with the child and animal._

    Has Lord Gianstefano Ferreri yet
    Paid down the sum due for his Cardinalate?
    I want the money.


ALEXANDER.

      [_In a murmur._] Such a tiger-clutch
    Upon our treasuries! _Fio di putta,
    Bastardo!_ ... More, more, more,
    As I made gold for Mommus!


CESARE.

                                  Can I
    Found you a power in your estates and cities
    Without the wages of my soldiers? Sooner
    I would pawn my Indian rubies
    And ceremonial pearls than let my army
    Starve for its hire. Ten thousand ducats--


ALEXANDER.

      [_Passing his hand across his brow._] I am
                  coining day and night and in my dreams:
    I cannot.... I am bare
    Of treasure, save these vestments that the Church
    Casts on my poverty. I have no jewels,
    No raiment, no reserve....
                                  But Cardinal Lopez
    Is fading every day.


CESARE.

    I cannot wait.


ALEXANDER.

      Pish! You shall have the wages. But last evening
    You plained you needed more artillery,
    And Messer Leonardo would be idle
    Among the forts unless I furnished you--
    Fate will: for Lopez dies.
                                These busy Cardinals
    Build each a piece of honeycomb in mass
    Sufficient.... Why, Michele, Giambattista
    Orsini, and Ferrari
    Have sweet within their cells for all Romagna.
    Ah, we shall need
    More than the harvest of the Jubilee,
    A tithe, a fresh Crusade.... What else?


CESARE.

      [_In a vibrating voice._] The King of France
    Sanctions my new campaign. I kissed his envoy,
    Lifting my mask off--father.


ALEXANDER.

      He grants you freedom, will molest no more?
    My policy of months confirmed!


CESARE.

                                    And seldom
    Has France been so outwitted. Now you are laughing?
    I curse them, to the very lees of laughter,
    These dung-hill French, that I must fight beside.
   --Ah, now your eye is caught by the escutcheon,
    Our challenge!


ALEXANDER.

      [_Shaking his head._] Flagrant blazoning! Christ Jesus!
    Yet if you are not Cesar--_nihil, nihil_!
    Come with me to the treasury.


CESARE.

                                    And silence,
    Silence and secrecy about this death.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Making a step back, as if from a gulf._] Cesare,
                  but you sway me like your mother,
    When she inhabited my will. Ah, God!
    My Captain and my Gonfalonier
    Suppling my nature like a mistress, fah!
    Come with me.... Take the gold!


SCENE V.

     SUOR LUCIA _in a cave beneath the heights of Nepi. She is dressed
     as a penitent: before her is a crucifix._


SUOR LUCIA.

      I would that I had kept it in my heart,
    Even as that other secret. Christ’s dear wounds
    Printed on me! And now the multitude
    Would see the trace and crowd up to my cavern,
    I do not want the impress any more:
    I do not want the crowd,
    Nor anything to happen any more.

     [DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ARAGON _enters and bows low before her.
     She rises and makes salutation_.

                                      Most noble princess,
    I pray you, by your sorrows, let me be.
    I have no signs to show you.


LUCREZIA.

                                  Let me lay
    My hands against your hands.


SUOR LUCIA.

    [_Astonished._] Then you believe?


LUCREZIA.

    And you will pray for me?


SUOR LUCIA.

                                  The stigmata--
    Would you receive them?


LUCREZIA.

                            I am with the lost.
    Give me these hands,
    And let me stroke them up and down.
                                        This land
    Of the Dies Irae, O this bitter land!
    The hills
    Heavy with crusted blood, the streams that hiss
    So low, as if from pits of hell--this land!


SUOR LUCIA.

      [_Slowly watching her._] You would win pardon? Do not be afraid....
    The Lord was there;
    In purple and in darkness.


LUCREZIA.

    Oh, I would feel the wounds!

     [_As kneeling_, LUCREZIA _rests her head against_ SUOR LUCIA, _a
     profound peace settles on her, and she falls asleep_.


SUOR LUCIA.

      But this is perfect faith, a miracle.
    My hands are coarse and hard and only striped
    Where I have touched the oxen’s leather thongs.
    She does not ask for any history,
    Or trouble me to hope.

    [LUCREZIA _opens her eyes and smiles_.

    You smile: you have had dreams?


LUCREZIA.

      [_Rising._] No: I have rested, I have been asleep.
    I am governor
    Of this drear Nepi. Where you have found peace,
    None shall disturb you; none shall take away
    This peace, or question. I am Governor.

    [_She embraces_ SUOR LUCIA, _and, still smiling, passes out_.


SCENE VI

     _A room in the Castle of Nepi._

     _In front is a fireplace, flanked by two chests bearing the
     monograms of_ DON ALFONSO _and_ DONNA LUCREZIA. _To the right is a
     narrow window beaten with rain. To the left, in a dark corner of
     the apartment_, DONNA LUCREZIA’S _Secretary_ MESSER CRISTOFERO
     _stands by his desk before a pile of papers and documents_. DON
     FEDERICO ALTIERI, _a young Roman gentleman of the_ PRINCESS’S
     _escort, leans against the desk_.


DON FEDERICO.

                              But speak of her,
    But give me leave to speak--perplexity
    Is on us of her escort: we were bid
    Accompany her as she were led to prison;
    And in this Nepi that is hers we know
    She is a captive--we would rescue her;
    She is a victim--we would slay the tyrant.
    Oh, she is like a girl, a younger sister,
    Still shut up with her tutors, whose fair face
    Climbs from a narrow casement, and spreads torture,
    Cursing and disbelief through idle time.
    What dwells within those plaits of saffron hair?
    Speak, secretary, for all our patience ends.


CRISTOFERO.

      It must not. Hers will never end. Her passions
    Lie in a bed of patience.


DON FEDERICO.

                              In a sea
    That overwhelms them!


CRISTOFERO.

                          No, in a bed of patience;
    And there she fosters them. She will not die.


DON FEDERICO.

      Will she be wed again, again revive
    As the seasons alternate from cold to hot,
    With a great patience till the years be spent?


CRISTOFERO.

      Don Federico, she will never wed
    Save as her father’s policy decrees;
    She is a sainted daughter.


DON FEDERICO.

                              And a sister--
    How would you rate her there?


CRISTOFERO.

                                    It is the Duke himself
    That banished her: he could not tolerate
    The tears he caused to flow. If you would serve her,
    Let those in Rome about His Holiness
    Be taught she languishes for Rome; effect
    Her swift recall. I will provide you taste
    Sweetness of her sweet gratitude. I have served her
    Through many bitter days and found her sweetness
    As the perfume of her patience.

_Enter_ DONNA LUCREZIA.

                                    She approaches.
    My orders are most strict: you must retire.


DON FEDERICO.

      [_After a profound obeisance._] But in
                  the name of your whole escort, sovereign,
    If we can aid----

    [LUCREZIA _looks down on him and remains dumb_.


CRISTOFERO.

    [_To_ DON FEDERICO.] Receive our sovereign’s thanks.

    [_Exit_ DON FEDERICO.


LUCREZIA.

      There are so many letters.
    So many letters that I cannot write.
    My poor Cristofero,
    We meet this way together every morning;
    I cannot write; I cannot sign my name.
    It startles me to see my name....
    Put by your papers.

    [CRISTOFERO _lays manuscripts into drawers_.

                          But there is an action:
    Write to the Cardinal San Severini
    That he may have new prayers, new prayers--all day
    Said in the monasteries on account
    Of the great sorrow I have had to bear.

    [_Laying her hand on_ CRISTOFERO.

    Provide that Vincent take
    The gold I gave him to the Cardinal,
    That a great requiem be solemnised
    For the Prince Duke my husband--for his soul.
    The glory of the saints play over him
    And mingle him among them in their bliss!
    I cannot bear my shadowy court of folk
    That make no feast, that speak in low-toned voices,
    And yet are raising up no prayers to Heaven
    To draw down peace on him. There must be peace;
    And I must lay my sorrow down to rest
    Soft and for ever as I laid my dead.

     [CRISTOFERO _begins to write_; LUCREZIA _looks from the window_.

    There is no truth
    In staying here, in all this haggard country,
    With all its miles on miles of withering turf.
    Must I be sovereign of this sultry air,
    This land that gapes on me? And there are chasms,
    Great fissures that affright.... Of the miasma too
    My babe may die. Are there no posts from Rome?


CRISTOFERO.

      None, Excellency--yet I would convey
    News of your health, of the young Prince’s health,
    If it should please you, to his Holiness.


LUCREZIA.

      Nay, we must not be forward. Posts will come
    To Nepi, if at Nepi I abide....

_Enter_ DONNA HIERONYMA BORGIA _with little_ DON RODRIGO. DONNA LUCREZIA
_runs to her_.

    Give me the child.


HIERONYMA.

    Fie, he will set you weeping!


LUCREZIA.

      [_Throwing back her widow’s veil._ While he smiles? Bambino,
    How thou wilt charm thy grand-dad.
                                        Up and down,
    Then up again--ha, ha!


HIERONYMA.

    The child is growing.


LUCREZIA.

    Is it possible to grow--away from Rome?

    [_She sets_ RODRIGO _on a table before her_.

    Hieronyma, see the small, beating feet!
    This babe will dance before he learn to walk.


HIERONYMA.

    His mother’s babe!


LUCREZIA.

                            Roble, we must to Rome!
    ’Tis there one dances.


HIERONYMA.

                                  Gently, kinswoman,
    The child is here in safety.


LUCREZIA.

                            From what foe? In safety?
    The child is mine.... He will protect the child.
      [_Dancing_ RODRIGO.] Pat, pat--bare toes!
                                        Cristofero, your Prince
    Is clad as quaintly as a traveller
    In haste, and seeking refuge. Write to Vincent
    That he send quickly stuffs and broideries;
    Write for the little coat,
    Punctured with gold, I wrought him.


HIERONYMA.

                                        Not the gold one;
    Our Prince wears mourning.

_A_ SERVANT _enters: he confers apart with_ CRISTOFERO _and goes out_.


LUCREZIA.

                              Babe, what we must wear!
    But I shall make your garments, one by one,
    Even till you grow a man.
                              He snatches pearls!
    I love their slide about my throat--nay, Roble,
    Their touch is silkier than a baby’s thumb.
    Fie, little cricket!


CRISTOFERO.

    Donna!--


LUCREZIA.

                  [Turning.] Posts from Rome?
    You have tidings?


CRISTOFERO.

    No, Madonna....


LUCREZIA.

    Say!


CRISTOFERO.

      Duke Valentino
    Is here, is at the doors.


LUCREZIA.

    I have not seen....


CRISTOFERO.

      None ever sees, Madonna: from the ground
    His army springs.


LUCREZIA.

    [_Standing quietly and wringing her hands._

    And his commands?


CRISTOFERO.

      To bid farewell.
                      Madonna, he is busy,
    His one thought of his conquests. But an instant,
    Give him an instant’s audience and God speed.


LUCREZIA.

    Where is he?


CRISTOFERO.

    In soft converse with Capello.


LUCREZIA.

    And whither--?


CRISTOFERO.

      Sweet mistress, ask him whither; that will make
    Matter of speech between you. Ask him whither.


LUCREZIA.

      I cannot see him! If he come, he comes
    As the thunder that one cannot bear, or as
    The earthquake that one suffers.


CRISTOFERO.

                                    He was most tender
    You should not be disturbed.

     [HIERONYMA _is taking the sleepy child away_; LUCREZIA _motions it
     is to remain_.

                                    The Duke must march
    Within an hour....


LUCREZIA.

    [_To_ HIERONYMA.] But I will mind the child.

     [CRISTOFERO _goes out_; HIERONYMA _draws back_; LUCREZIA _lays_
     RODRIGO _to sleep on a cushion and remains by him_.

     _Enter_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA. _He is dressed in
     black, rain-streaked velvet, and a coat of fine mail; his belt and
     sword are gold; from the black beretta in his hand a white,
     rain-drenched feather sweeps to the ground. He is followed by_ DON
     MICHELOTTO CORELLA, MONSIGNORE GASPARE TORELLA, MESSER AGAPITO DE
     AMALIA _and the_ CAVALIERE VINCENZO CALMETA.


CESARE.

      Your benediction
    Upon our arms and our diplomacy!

     [LUCREZIA _lifts her eyes and salutes his_ CAPTAINS _and trains_.

    We start for Pesaro. None in the army
    Has learnt that secret. We are here in conclave.
    I go to conquer Pesaro. Giovanni
    De Sforza has made havoc of your fame--
    In tongue and hand
    He shall be rendered impotent.
      [_Drawing closer_]. For you
    I fight, Lucrezia: you burned so hot
    For vengeance of that enemy. I marked
    The rage enkindled in your very substance,
    As it must be when women are traduced.
    Lucrece, I am no more a Cardinal;
    I am a soldier with an army, such
    As princes covet, and my first assault
    Will be on Pesaro.
                      Are you a corpse,
    A sentinel beside the child? You stand
    So solid and so simple, like a block
    Of marble that is dragged into a room
    Long as its beauty pleases, and dragged forth,
    If it can take no lustre from our moods.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Moving a little forward._] There is my lord Torella, always faithful;
    Agapito, who loves you--I commend
    The Duke to you, to you....
      [_Turning back._] The child awakens!

    [CESARE _lifts_ RODRIGO, _who resists_.

    He will not ... but he must.

     [_She shudders as_ CESARE _kisses the child and gives it to her_.

    ... At Pesaro
    You will find my lute; I remember where I left it--
    In the fourth chamber: you will find my books;
    Take care of them. Farewell....


CESARE.

                                        _A rivederla!_
    The lady here would haunt us. Will you fear,
    Michelotto, you, a pacing ghost?
    You have laid many such!
      [_To his cortege._] I led you here
    That you might look on her, and Pesaro
    Fall without aid of cannon. Ha, a fool!

    [_He laughs and turns on his heel._


LUCREZIA.

    [_Looking after him wistfully and addressing_ CALMETA.

    Your lord may be a king--I have dreamed it thus--
    I would your lord should be a king....
                                              Dear captains,
    And soldiers, and the poet ... give him glory.


CALMETA.

    But we would fight for you.


LUCREZIA.

    Then give him glory.


CESARE.

      [_Half turning._] I am ashamed a poet should behold you!
    Cavaliere, she was in our thoughts
    A statue of fair Victory, a winged
    And silent creature that creates the air
    She flees along....
                            Turn from her, she will damp
    The stoutest hearts--a weather to discourage
    An army from the field!
      [_Taking up a fold of_ LUCREZIA’s _veil_.] In widow’s weeds--
    For my assassin! These are widow’s weeds,
    Are they not? They displease me; they deform.


LUCREZIA.

    [_In a low, firm voice, while she trembles._

    They will remain upon me the full time;
    Their darkness on me my whole life till death.


CESARE.

      Your future is irrelevant. Till death?
    But nothing matters then. [_Addressing his cortege._
                                            To Pesaro!

    [_Turning again to_ LUCREZIA.

    You look a lady fit to nurse the wounds
    Of men who fight for other women’s love.

     [_He coldly touches her hand--his followers bowing low to her, move
     aside as he passes to the door: there he steps back and surveys_
     LUCREZIA, _who is shaken with agitation, then, smiling maliciously,
     he goes out_.


LUCREZIA.

      Demon!
      [_She weeps bitterly._] ... I am a toy
    In hands that play their game of rivalry
    Over the stream of death.
                              O child!

    [_She crushes_ RODRIGO _to her breast_.


SCENE VII

     _The Hills of Romagna. Sheepfolds and Shepherds_; DUKE CESARE DE
     VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _lying down in the midst of them_.


SHEPHERD.

    .... You are our shepherd
    And ruler of our flocks: we are your flock.


AN OLD SHEPHERD.

      Signore, I am happy, being blind
    To sit in the sun: I feel you are the sun.


A YOUNG SHEPHERD.

      Lord Duke, you are our shepherd--
    The reason this, that we forget our flocks,
    And yet our flocks graze placidly and seek
    The shadow and the stream as they were led.


A FATHER.

      You are our king; you have danced with us--our maidens
    Consent to any yoke, for by-and-by
    They will bear children you will train in arms.


TWO SHEPHERDS.

      [_Speaking together._] We are your kingdom, and we worship you.
    You have made us as a flock.


A YOUNG GOAT-HERD.

      [_With a flute._] You are secret
    As the god Pan was secret to the folds.
    Lord Cesare, we love you.


CESARE.

    [_Touching the lad’s flute._] And the flute.

     [_The_ LAD _bursts into tears; one by him, his companion, says_:


SHEPHERD.

      He cannot sing the kings: it is in battle
    When we hiss down in rage to die for them
    Our blood runs music.


CESARE.

    You shall die in battle.


ALL THE SHEPHERDS.

      We will all die: we will all live for you,
    Ready to die;
    Though we lie down, encompassing a city,
    Beneath your rule we can lie down in peace.


CESARE.

    You are my chosen warriors.


A CROWD OF SHEPHERDS.

      We are your shepherds, we must stay at home;
    We cannot leave our flocks.


CESARE.

                                You are Romagna,
    You are my people.


OLD SHEPHERD.

      We are his people: we are Italy.
    He consecrates us too; he loves the valleys
    Where we rear up our lambs and sing our loves.

     [_They all gather round as if longing for some outbreak of their
     enthusiasm._

    What shall we do? Beat on our castanets,
    Fall on our knees, bring tribute?... But our prince
    Has infinite treasure.


CESARE.

                          You shall keep my castles.
    You are my garrisons; while you defend them
    I shall rest quiet, all Romagna mine. [_Rising._


THE FLUTE-BOY.

    You will not go from us?


CESARE.

    First, I command a song.

     [_He sits down again, expectant. The_ BOY _sobs; then, fixing his
     eyes on the_ DUKE, _pauses, and after a few moments sings out
     shrilly_.


THE FLUTE-BOY.

            The great lord Cesar Julius
            Crossed the Rubicon--
            The army was great,
            It passed in state:
            And the host was gone.

            There was none to see
            That mighty lord;
            The light on his face,
            The light on his sword,
          --And the history.

            But a child on the bank
            Of the Rubicon,
            On his knees he sank,
            He stooped and drank,
    For his heart was faint that his lord was gone.

    [_The Shepherds all weep._


CESARE.

      [_Embracing the boy._] A master!--he shall sing you all I am.
    And now I pass to Rome, without farewell,
    For I am dwelling here and in your midst,
    And with you through all ages, in your music,
    Your sorrows, with the shadows on the hills,
    So close to you, a presence in your hearts.
    O my Romagna, there is no farewell! [_Exit._


A SHEPHERD.

      He has slipped away: I knew he was a god.
    Boy, are you stricken? You should look up proudly.


THE BOY.

    [_Taking up his flute and looking after_ CESARE.

    I am stricken to the heart; he is a god.




ACT IV


SCENE I

     _The Vatican: a Loggia._

     DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ARAGON _is seated between her Maids of
     Honour_, DONNA ANGELA BORGIA _and_ DONNA CATILENA DE VALENCE,
     _while her Maid_ CLARICE _pours wine on her long hair_.


LUCREZIA.

    My head aches.


CLARICE.

                        Soon her Excellence
    Will feel relief.


ANGELA.

                      You look a wave-drenched siren
    In those long folds of hair cloyed with the honey
    By which the lees of the white wine cling close.
    The sun is brilliant!


CATILENA.

                          And it was kindly done
    To save us freckles by the grace of hats
    Worn in the presence. Ah, sweet Pope,
    Until his Holiness returns to-day
    Venus is Sovereign of the Church, its princes
    Her laughing hierophants, the Sacred College
    Her Loves, her Doves, her Swallows, what you will,
    All twittering of her till the air is crazy,
    And every breeze a gossip.


LUCREZIA.

                              Hush!
    A pretty jest--
    But when it thundered yesterday I sobbed,
    And headache like a terror hung on me
    All the night long.... I am a daughter
    Guarding her father’s house--the Universe:
    I am no Pope, and, though the Cardinals
    Laugh gallantly or slyly, though I laugh
    At all the salt and spice of travesty,
    Yet this obedience to my father’s will
    Has turned my prayers to stone.
                                      Dear girls,
    Here at the toilet let me be a woman,
    Whose handmaid forehead the triregno’s weight
    Burthens to faintness.
                          Clarice, did you bruise
    The celandine and greater cleaver’s madder
    The full time Messer Giambattista Porta
    Ordains?


CLARICE.

              Before you climbed up to the sun,
    The roots were bruised and mixed with cummin-oil,
    The boxwood slivers and the saffron, Donna.


LUCREZIA.

      Then lay our compound on....
    The Envoy from Ferrara cannot enter,
    Nor my two Cardinal Secretaries, until
    You draw my hair out through the crownless hat,
    And spread it like a halo on the brim.

    [CLARICE _dyes her golden hair deeper_.


ANGELA.

      There is a whisper that the Duke was seen,
    Masked, at dead midnight....


LUCREZIA.

      [_Starting._] He will keep his chamber;
    He sleeps by day. I were ashamed
    To play to him the Pope of Christendom;
    I could not play it--I should flow no laughter.
    Haste, Clarice, haste, I am longing
    For Messer Saracini and his news
    Of when I shall be married.
                                  Angela
    How long, how long I wait!
    A woman is a prisoner till a husband
    Unlock her to her aim. When I am giddy
    With dancing for my father, I recall
    What Messer Saracini tells me often
    Of the quiet, ordered court and the proud pomp
    Of the old Este castle.... Don Alfonso,
    So full of occupation with his cannon,
    Artillery as brilliant as my brother’s;
    But he himself in careless trim, as sons
    Of an old princely house may dare to be.
    Clarice, my tresses wide as sun-rays!
    [_Her hair is spread over a frame._] Bid
    The Chamberlain bring Messer Saracini. [_Exit_ CLARICE.


ANGELA.

      A tent of yellow silk! I peep at you,
    White, captive lady, Don Alfonso’s bride.


LUCREZIA.

    Hush, hush!

_Enter_ MESSER SARACINI _with_ CLARICE.


SARACINI.

                        Most humble greeting!
    Duke Ercole informs your Excellence
    This week the wedding-train forsakes Ferrara.

     [_The_ MAIDS OF HONOUR _clap their hands_.

     [LUCREZIA _springs up, snatching the hat-brim from her hair, which
     streams round her in dripping gold, as she childishly dances in a
     giddy circle_.

     [_She pauses breathless and laughing before_ MESSER SARACINI.


LUCREZIA.

      Ah, you bring joy!
    And joy is in my feet as in the lyre-strings
    The golden music.
                        Messer Saracini,
    Is the great cortege for my capture started?
    Oh, caught in dancing as a mermaiden,
    And carried to Ferrara! Shortly
    His Holiness will enter Rome, and shortly
    The bells will clamour joy above our heads
    Till the air dances, and the sunshine dances!
    Girls, I will send my jester
    Dressed in my newest clothes--the gold-scaled petticoat,
    And crimson sleeves--to dance out to the people
    My joy, and cry up _Viva la Duchcessa_,
    _Viva il Papa_! Girls....
    [_To_ SARACINI.] Oh, you are grave and full of wisdom’s smiling
    Behind the gravity!
                        Clarice, my hat!
    Tent me again for the Ambassador.

    [CLARICE _spreads her hair once more over the frame_.


SARACINI.

      Your future father, the Duke Ercole,
    Sends me these pearls, his noble Duchess wore,
    For Don Alfonso’s bride--ancestral pearls,
    Not lately sea-washed, held by sovereign fingers
    While years made generations.


LUCREZIA.

    [_Lifting them._] Golden pearls!


SARACINI.

      Duke Ercole informs your Excellence
    His health revives.


LUCREZIA.

                      By letter
    Commend me to his Excellence your Duke;
    Say, she who is his daughter in her heart
    Rejoices for his welfare.... I can nurse....
      [_To her_ MAIDS.] Tell Messer Saracini--night and day,
    Alone, without repose, I tended
    His Holiness when injured by the falling
    Of a wind-toppled tower.
                              To-night
    Be present at my ball.


SARACINI.

    Most flattered thanks.


ANGELA.

    And I will dance with you.


SARACINI.

                                  Day dance as well,
    And bring me to that hour, sweet promiser! [_Exit._


ANGELA.

    Ha, ha!--the limed, old bird! Ha, ha!

_Enter two_ CARDINALS _with despatches_.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                                            A post, from Spain.
    His Catholic Majesty writes threateningly
    Of the French rape of Naples, Holy Father
    Assisted through the Duke.


LUCREZIA.

                                  My lord,
    His Holiness returns this afternoon;
    Await his wisdom.
      [_Holding out her hair._] See, is this a Pope?


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    Apollo!


LUCREZIA.

      [_Smiling._] Leave him to his spokes.
    I will report you diligent, my lords.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      Your blessing, Holy Father! [_Laughing, she gives it._
                                  So the beam
    Of heaven bears down a dove. [_Kissing her finger-tips._


CARDINAL MICHELE.

                                  Your blessing!
    Christ heal me!

     [_He lays his hand on his heart and goes out with_ CARDINAL
     SEGOVIA.


LUCREZIA.

                    Clarice, I am almost dozing!
    This gold sun heaps me with such weight of gold.
    Leave me and lay out the white satin robe--
    No, for a warmth may rest upon my whiteness
    A little space: I dance to-night in black,
    With rubies of their violence grasping pearls,
    With these ancestral drops of my old duchy.
    Give me the verses on our Borgian Bull
    That Porcius wrote--that little book. My eyes
    Will rest on it half-closed and full of ease,
    As sunny cats that stretch themselves to dream.

    [_They go out._

    How strange!
    I feel as I should never grow a woman
    Save at Ferrara, miles away from Rome.
    Alfonso does not love me--every day
    Humiliates my humbler race, is fearful
    I shall be found in nature sinister
    And fatal.... But I am not so, and therefore
    He cannot find that I am anything
    But just his young Lucrece, he soon will love,
    As creatures sent for gifts, if they are gentle,
    Are cherished in reception.... Oh!

_A masked figure glides in behind and she suddenly hears a voice._


VOICE.

    Amanda!


LUCREZIA.

    [_To herself._] Castelian!... One, one voice....


CESARE.

    Amanda?


LUCREZIA.

                                          You,
    Cesare! You are come?


CESARE.

                              I cannot see:
    Is there a smile behind these rays or no?
    Is it dark weather, masks--or lip to lip?


LUCREZIA.

      Your voice ... I lost my breath
    To welcome you.


CESARE.

    Then to black hell my mask!

    [_He throws it away and kneels._

    O Excellency of Ferrara, have I
    Come here too late? Do all the Cupids
    Hold over this white, little face the saffron
    Of Hymen’s veil already? But I dare
    A kiss beneath this gold, although Alfonso
    Lose one sweet, nuptial joy....
                                      Ah, the beretta
    Must off in blaze of noon, if I would reach
    Beneath your brim. [_Holding her chin._] Return my happiness!

    [_They kiss._

    What strands of amber! O magnificence!
    My blond is grey-ashamed to touch such yellow
    Of crocus triumph. So it seems my sister
    Will be a sovereign Duchess.


LUCREZIA.

                                Cesare,
    This Este marriage--you would prosper it?


CESARE.

                                                My fortress!
    Behind your towers Venice can rage and curse....
    But there is joy beyond--we shall be neighbour-princes,
    Romagna in your sight as you look out,
    And you in reach if I should mount a horse.
    Rome will be left, but not the Duke, your brother,
    We cannot be divided.... Holiness!

    [_He laughs mockingly._


LUCREZIA.

      You must not, Cesare.... Had you been home
    The Holy Father had not set me up....
    It burns me! [_She lifts her hands to her face._


CESARE.

                  Curse the folly!
    To make a jest of you--our secret! You
    To be a Pope, a Governor--my secret
    Of the veiled hours, of the sealed lips!
    Our father can be garrulous in action
    As well as tongue. Forget, forget, love-goddess,
    All but the whelming sea-deep and your pearls!

    [_He lifts the great Este necklace from her knee._

    Cloud, cloud, be dumb, my moon--shine under cloud!
    ... Were letters sent from Spain?


LUCREZIA.

    I would not read them.


CESARE.

    We will receive them presently and answer.


LUCREZIA.

      I marvel
    To see you up and in the morning sun.


CESARE.

      I waked--then heard you sat against the sun,
    Fixed to one spot in glory.


LUCREZIA.

    And the wars?


CESARE.

   --Gained me Faënza, Castel-Bolognese,
    Corneto, Piombino: for the French
    I entered Capua....


LUCREZIA.

    And you were cruel there.


CESARE.

      Transcendently. Naples is crushed to earth,
    Is gone, stamped French in bloodshed.
                                          That vendetta
    I look on, round and perfect--Naples,
    That once eclipsed my moon and shot its arrow
    Athwart my omen, Naples
    Hurled down as throne and kingdom!


LUCREZIA.

                                        Cesare! My hand--
    You grasp as if to break.... Your long, white hand!


CESARE.

    It hurts? Lucrece, I rule at Pesaro.


LUCREZIA.

      Well, dear, you need not look so venomous.
    You rule--where is it that you do not rule?

     [_The cannon of Sant’ Angelo boom and the bells ring._ LUCREZIA
     _and_ CESARE _lean over the parapet together; he gently pushes back
     the straw brim round her forehead and kisses her many times; then
     he quickly descends_.


SCENE II

     _The Vatican: Sala dei Pontifici._

     _A brilliant assembly. The_ POPE _is enthroned: in front of him is
     a table on which is set a great jewel-case. To the left are the_
     CARDINALS; _to the right_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA,
     _in cloth of gold and pearls. Before the table_ DONNA LUCREZIA
     BORGIA D’ARAGON, _in cloth of gold and pearls, a black ribbon
     confining her hair, receives the nuptial ring of_ DON ALFONSO
     D’ESTE _from the hands of his brother the_ LORD CARDINAL IPPOLITO
     D’ESTE.


IPPOLITO.

      With all his heart the illustrious Don Alfonso
    Sends by my hand this ring.


LUCREZIA.

                                With all my heart
    I take this ring.

    [CARDINAL IPPOLITO _puts it on her finger_.


ALEXANDER.

                      So now we are made an Este!
    Donna Lucrezia Borgia d’Este, come,
    The Church enfolds thee dearly.

     [_He embraces her; then she stands by him at her brother’s side._

                                    Lord Ippolito,
    Open the nuptial gift, Duke Ercole’s.


IPPOLITO.

    Fair sister, white as moonlight for the stars,
    Would in this prison all the constellations,
    That dew the paths of heaven when Luna shines,
    Were clustered for your taking! Fair,
    How you would set with twisted gold Orion,
    And all the planets from the rubious Mars
    To emerald-dartling Mercury. O Fair,
    We are not gods to homage our Elect,
    To wrench the sky and rob its flowering lights;
    But all that mines and rocks can make eternal
    Of those pure rays that span mortality
    Are at your feet.


ALEXANDER.

                      My lord Ippolito,
    Your words with admirable beauty heighten
    The preciousness of this most precious gift.

     [CARDINAL IPPOLITO _and the_ FERRARESE TREASURER _open the coffer_.

    Ha! The lips suck, and even upon the palate
    These sparkles dance and twang. Oh, marvellous!
    Inert we call this body, yet it seeks
    The corners of the chamber as with song;
    A voice strikes on our fibres. Cesare,
    These rubies.... You are poor!
                        Collars! Who would not
    Be captive to these links?
    [_Putting one on._] See, on the breast
    This great rock-sapphire sullen!
                              Pearls--the pearls! the pearls!
    Soft--ah, but soft. I smile, as old Tithonus
    At the rainbow-paps of Dawn. This ring, a woman’s,
    Can sit on my first joint to pipe its tale
    Of shepherds in the showery grass. What joyance,
    Heartiness as from cordial-glasses, drunk
    By eyes and touch and spirit, in this treasure!
    My lord, my lord!
    You set resplendent eyes upon the Bride.
    Ah, lord Ippolito! Serenely
    She gives their posts of beauty to these jewels;
    For her they strike and bleed, herself they honour,
    For her they strike and bleed, herself they honour,
    Their chief ally your gaze.

     [_The_ PRINCES OF FERRARA _and the_ CARDINALS _make their
     presentations_.

                                      Gifts, gifts--more gifts!
    The Church, the World munificent.

    [LUCREZIA _smiles and thanks the_ PRINCES _and_ CARDINALS
    _with deep inclinations_.

                                        Burcardus,
    Remove the magic table; in its room
    We too must weave our magic.
                                    Bring the sweetmeats!
    A shower of pleasant hail in these warm bosoms;
    Not golden rain of Jove, but feastful sugar....

     [_He throws confetti into the bodices of the ladies._ DONNA GIULIA
     FARNESE _and some of the fairer among them pelt him back_.


LUCREZIA.

      [_Softly sucking a sweetmeat._] My lord Ippolito, this crucifix,
    And this, and this--your gifts ... they will know my hand
    Close as the nuptial ring.


IPPOLITO.

    Fairest, and most devout!


ALEXANDER.

      The floors are clear; and I have my petition.
    Cesare, grant us joy! Dance with your sister.
    My stars, my Gemini! Lead forth the Duchess....
    Delay? My prayer!

     [CESARE _bends close to_ LUCREZIA _and whispers in her ear. She
     turns white, then rose-red, with her eyes on the ground_.

    My prayer!

    [LUCREZIA _lays her hand in_ CESARE’S.


CESARE.

    [_Laughing and bowing to the_ POPE.] The tambourines!

     [_They dance a slow Spanish dance: as they begin_ LUCREZIA _lifts
     her eyes to_ CESARE’S _face, and, looking into each other’s eyes,
     they tread the measure_.


ALEXANDER.

    [_Clapping and humming with delight._

      More, more!
    Could I but make these orbits everlasting,
    God on the Earth had then His praise forever,
    His music of the heavens.... My gold stars,
    Each with its angel in a glory.
                                    More!

    [_The dance goes on to music and hand-clapping._


SCENE III

     _The Vatican: Sala dei Pontifici._

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER _and_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE. _She is in
     a crimson travelling-dress, with hat and feather._


ALEXANDER.

    And now we part!


LUCREZIA.

    Dear Holiness, my Father....


ALEXANDER.

      Ah, Child--Lucrezia! The pale eyes are rounding
    To pearls, great precious pearls, that feed their orbs
    Upon a sea of tears.... But you are young,
    Scarce twenty-two, and, yonder in the north,
    One half of you
    Is now already at your sovereign home.
    Listen, my little girl: be circumspect
    Among the Este, blameless to their watching:
    But with a gentle steadfastness of pride
    Meet and overthrow their arrogance ... God keep you
    From cold disdain or cruelty!


LUCREZIA.

                                  Father, my courage
    Is sure for I have won my husband’s father:
    His brothers too, though nobly formal still,
    As fashion rules their manners, have kind faces,
    An air that makes me brave.
                                You must not pine, dear father,
    Nor look for me too often, nor remember
    I am so far away.


ALEXANDER.

                        Nay, no caught breath!
    Sobs will not help my Duchess home.
                                          Ah, sweeting,
    They do not do up at Ferrara there
    As we in Rome: they live less joyously.
    But you, a woman, will be sensitive
    To all I stumble at the hinting of.
    The peg you sing to must be set less high,
    Less near Olympus. My bold horsewoman,
    You must not tarry as with me to watch
    The stallions worship Venus: those rich flames
    Are out of mode for Don Alfonso’s wife....
    Your feet will often weary for the dance--
    You shake your head.... Well, then, a fruitful couch,
    A sturdy race of princes be engendered
    To comfort you! Lucrezia, O Lucrece,
    The Vatican without you--the procession
    Of gaudy midnights and no feather-footed,
    Sweet daughter making grace, embroidering
    The torchlight with her silver attitudes,
    And floating flash of diamonds, till the dawn
    Came to me from her swaying pearls, and eyes
    Half-open in the languid Spanish dance!
    Day after day my coffers will boil up
    With pearl on pearl for you.... To-morrow morning
    I shall drop in the largest of the East.
    And, Duchess of Ferrara, anything
    We can perform for you is done the moment
    It is but a desire within your hope.


LUCREZIA.

    Dear Holiness, you whelm me with your love!
    Take care for me, my father, of your health.
    Cesare will be dutiful and anxious
    To make your evenings merry--but so soon
    Cesare will be from you at his wars.


ALEXANDER.

    And I be left a gray, old priest alone!
    Well, I must bear my age and loneliness
    As of the time of life.
                            If you would comfort me,
    Daughter, in desolation--for already
    The Vatican is chilling, growing hollow
    Behind your cavalcade--then write to me
    At every sleeping-place or tarrying-place
    Along your way: and do not anger me
    With negligence. Be diligent and careful,
    As of your duty, to inform my thoughts
    With each event that touches you. To-night
    You rest at Castelnovo. Rest and eat!
    Then out with pen and let the little hand,
    Tired with the reins, yet for my foolish sake
    Write me good-night, thy health, the courtesy
    Shown to thee on thy way.


LUCREZIA.

                              Even beside my prayers
    I set this duty.


ALEXANDER.

                  Sweet, and most sweetly promised!
    Oh, my Lucrezia, you will never know,
    For Nature will not in her rule betray
    Her elder secrets to young ears, how fondly
    I love you in your fairness,
    That was your mother’s lure about my soul....
    Lucrece, your mother is both loyal and good:
    Alfonso d’Este may acclaim your virtue,
    If you are hers in worth as loveliness.

_Enter_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _with little_ DON
RODRIGO D’ARAGON.

    Cesare and your little son!


LUCREZIA.

      [_Clasping her child._] Rodrigo,
    I leave you with your grandsire.... Ah, my feather!
    You laugh to see it dancing. I will send you
    Long feathers from the city where I dwell....
    O father, let me kiss you, let me see
    Your hand upon his head. I cannot stay!
    I am no more a bride--rather a corse
    To leave all this behind.


ALEXANDER.

      There, there, there! Do not cry!
    The child is sobbing, and my eyes ... White Fairy,
    Enchantress, you are loved and you are wept
    By generations: by your sire, his son,
    And by your son.


LUCREZIA.

    Cesare does not weep.


ALEXANDER.

      His eyes burn threateningly, his face is cold;
    That is a warrior’s weeping.
                                  Cesare,
    We shall be dull as monks when she is gone.
    To-night ... I am the Pontiff, you almost
    A Cardinal again. To think one woman,
    A little bride, with streaming hair, can set me
    Alone upon St. Peter’s rock to weep!
    Now guard thy health, pray ever to Madonna,
    The glorious Virgin. _Benedicite!_
    Into my arms once more! O Cesare,
    What I have lost to found you as a Prince,
    To wed her safe to sovereignty! My Este,
    My own Lucrezia--
                          And the letter, child;
    Do not forget.


CESARE.

    Come, come!


ALEXANDER.

                                Do not be ill;
    Do not forget.

    [_They part_: CESARE _leads her to the door_.


CESARE.

      [_Suddenly still and turning._] One kiss, but not farewell--
    One kiss here in the Vatican!


ALEXANDER.

      [_Shaking his pastoral staff at_ CESARE.] O Traitor,
    My temporal power would over-reach me thus?
    The last kiss from the Vatican will float
    Out from the window yonder where I watch
    The last long arrow-streak of your array
    Toward Castelnovo. It will be a kiss,
    And fly like autumn cranes to Africa.

    [_Exeunt_ CESARE _and_ LUCREZIA.

    Gone, gone!
                Here gather all the Cardinals.

_The Sacred College enters._

    Quick, to the window....
      [_Lifting_ RODRIGO.] Up, my little man,
    And see your mother leave us.
                                    Ha, how trim
    She sits, beside her Cesare, how grand!
    I shall take journey
    In April to Ferrara.... What if never,
    If never I should see her any more!...
    My lord Antoniotto,
    That is a sight Vergilian gods would praise!


SCENE IV

     _A room in the Castle of Sant’ Angelo._

     _The_ LORD CARDINALS SEGOVIA _and_ MICHELE, DON MICHELOTTO.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    Where is the Duke?


MICHELOTTO.

                              With Messer Leonardo,
    Learning the secret of an engine needing
    A fortune for its efficacy. Where,
    My lord Martino, is his Holiness?


CARDINAL MICHELE.

      Gone with his cousin, it may be to join
    Duke Valentino.


MICHELOTTO.

                    Coming hither
    We had encountered.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                        Search the armoury. [_Exit_ MICHELOTTO.
    We live and breathe for armaments, for choice
    Of this Condottiere or another
    To lead them. In two days the Duke will march.
    Then news and letters, or discourse of these,
    Will fill our ears and fill the Vatican.
    His Holiness is chafing, and on fire
    With all the wishes of Duke Cesare.
    He laughs; but sometimes clouds:
   --Comes to the Treasury, then leaves the door
    Unopened, and the wrinkles of his face
    Take seed of thoughts and teem.

_Enter the_ LORD CARDINAL ORSINI.


CARDINAL ORSINI.

                                    He is gone below....
    Gone to the buried rooms where young Astorre,
    Faënza’s lord, for now a twelvemonth past,
    Lies captive.
                    Have you seen the catapult?
    It terrorises by its fashion. Come!

     [_The_ CARDINALS _pass out. After a few moments the_ LORD ALEXANDER
     VI. _and the_ LORD FRANCESCO BORGIA _enter together_.


ALEXANDER.

      Would he were in the Tiber!
    A child so fresh and vigorous, a lad
    As fair as Alexander, and a fame
    As crescent. If we shut him up in marble,
    A statue, we were justified: his body
    Is of the ageless sculptures.


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                                  Cousin,
    You should not seek the prison-cells below.


ALEXANDER.

      Our Lord looked on the Spirits shut in darkness:
    Scarce He remitted sentence, but His face
    Melted the iron; there was Paradise
    And fragrance with His breathing.
                                          This Astorre....
    Curse his fell jailor--triple murderer!


CARDINAL BORGIA.

    Nay, in defence....


ALEXANDER.

                              Of his ambition, of his majesty....
    O Tiber, but you do not heave; your current
    Flows smooth!
                  And I, should not I pardon sin?
    Here am I bleeding for his great offences,
    With love not strong enough to snatch their load,
    And fling them from my sight.


CARDINAL BORGIA.

                                  You have absolved him, Father,
    By your great power.


ALEXANDER.

                              Francesco,
    Shall I absolve him with chained hands that tremble
    Playing their gest of benison in Hell?
    I will look up and curse him where he stands
    Among the gods....
                              Cousin, there is a succour
    I drink of, as St. Bernard drank the breast
    Stooped to him in his ecstasy. Our Lady
    Keeps me in adoration.... But this Power
    That bows us to his ends, as resolute
    And cold as growing winter, is a god.

_Re-enter_ MICHELOTTO.

    Ah, Lucifer--his creature Michelotto!
    I hate these dun, blue eyes:
    This executioner, with trains of ghosts
    And drops of gore behind him for a trail.


MICHELOTTO.

      Your Holiness,
    Will you be private with his Excellence?


ALEXANDER.

    Cousin, retire! [_Exit_ CARDINAL BORGIA.
                    We are in privacy.

    [MICHELOTTO _bows and retires_. _The_ POPE _seats himself_.

    ’Tis Camerino first to be besieged....
    Ah, and the secret spring upon Urbino--
    My leopard!--that must come to me as news!

_Enter_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA.

    Cesare, you have plighted oath of freedom
    To that fair boy below.

    [CESARE _smiles and lifts his shoulders_.


CESARE.

                              The hour is portioned mine.
    Of my demand you listen, Holiness.

     [_He throws his black velvet cloak at the_ POPE’S _feet and lying
     down props his head against his fathers knees_.

                                    _Aut Cesar,
    Aut Nihil!_ There is danger
    From Fortune in this new campaign. My Captains,
    The cursed Condottieri,
    Are plotting to betray me. Holy Father,
    Between us, you and me, there must be action
    Of policy as ductile and as cool
    As ever was concerted.


ALEXANDER.

                              True! With France
    Incessantly adroit I must secure
    Continuance of her aid....
                                Danger and treason?
    To you, my mystic Angel, treachery?
    You take my heart out....
                                Mary, Queen of Angels,
    Protect our arms, protect my son!
                                      And you--?


CESARE.

    [_Suddenly on his knees, close to his father’s ear._

    These mercenaries--Baglioni,
    Vitelli, the Orsini, in one grave
    Shall sink entrammelled.... Do they know me yet?...
    And their injurious arms be drawn of sting,
    Their troops unweaponed.


ALEXANDER.

    Ah!


CESARE.

                                    I shall be slow in this:
    You must not press my schemes.
                                    Then I shall muster
    Another army, fresh and of my land,
    My own Romagnole shepherds from their fells.
    These people of the slopes of Apennine
    Sing me and weave my rule into their thews--
    My Dragon’s teeth, my arms of Italy!


ALEXANDER.

      And these Romagnole shepherds are my flock;
    A spiritual army and a power
    To keep you safe.
                        This combat pleases me;
    A conflict in the air--wit against craft!

     [CESARE _has sunk down again by his father’s knee, his eyes lost in
     dream_. ALEXANDER _draws his face backward and gazes at him_:
     CESARE _smiles languidly_.


CESARE.

      I have learnt all the Romans and the Grecians
    Have taught of armies, of a prince’s justice.
    Both France and Spain will seek my armaments
    To join my powers with theirs.
    [_Raising himself._] In this campaign

    [_Still kneeling, he fixes the_ POPE _with his eyes_.

    You have your own campaign to wage in peace,
    Campaign of death. When I shall give you warning,
    Seize the Orsini left in Rome, imprison
    Lord Giambattista in the Borgia Tower;
    His coffers and proprietorships embrace
    Armies and succours.
                          That great pearl is his,
    The cardinal, benign, soft pearl.


ALEXANDER.

                                      Aurora,
    The whiteness of its orb!


CESARE.

                              And he will die.
    _Aut nihil!_


ALEXANDER.

    [_With a slight shudder._] Ah!... Send letters every day.


CESARE.

     [_Stretching out his hand and taking up a paper lying on the
     ground_.

    What is this parchment?


ALEXANDER.

                              You have read it,
    They told me. ’Tis the libel from Taranto
    Sent to Savelli.
                    Christ, we are a kindred!
    Carnage and rapine, perfidy....


CESARE.

                                    Why mince it?
    Assassination, incest!

    [_Rising from the ground with clenched hands._


ALEXANDER.

                            But the Latin!
    The dulcitude of apophthegm, the style!
    What sap in all this rankness. Cesare,
    I laughed an hour, applauded with wet eyes--
    _Literae humaniores_--so the salt
    Of the strong farce compelled me.
                                      Do you stoop
    To anger? Consul Julius Cesar laughed
    When choice Catullus spat an epigram,
    And dined him that same evening.


CESARE.

                            Ho, but this poisoned insult
    Is danger such as that I have to charm
    Out of my army into sepulchre.
    The scribblers--fah! the mercenary pens--
    Shall have their lesson in good manners: silence
    Laid on slit tongue and mutilated hand.


ALEXANDER.

    You are too young!


CESARE.

                          Lampoons
    Debase our currency.


ALEXANDER.

      Hoo, hoo! [_Reading._] “The New Mahomet,
    Antichrist”--with his treasure lumped in jewels
    A little Duchess wears. Ha, ha!


CESARE.

      Plague me no more! You shall find all grown still.
    _Nascitur magnus ordo._ ...
    But to achieve my work! Italian Vergil,
    How much to do, how much!... I must have time,
    Have time before me, a wide path,
    A silent; I must have my soldiery,
    Sons of the sheepfold, of the vineyard: time
    And patience and no noise, no sleep, no hastening,
    No languor. This new order is my will;
    It is beautiful.
                  Guard deep my plot, my secret.
    We breathe combined?


ALEXANDER.

    [_Nodding._] Letters?


CESARE.

      [_Kissing the_ POPE’S _hand_.] Each instant
    I need your counsel or may do you good,
    Sending good news.


ALEXANDER.

    What of that lad below?


CESARE.

      [_With an amused laugh._] I shall not take
                  him back to his Faënza. [_Exit._
    [_His voice outside._] Don Michelotto!


ALEXANDER.

      [_Calling._] Cousin! [_As_ CARDINAL BORGIA _re-enters_.
                          Quick! quick, Francesco; I am ready.
    Give me your escort to the Vatican.
    Francesco,
    I knew the lad was doomed. God rest his soul!


SCENE V

     _The Castle of the_ ESTE _at Ferrara: the_ DUCHESS’S _bed-chamber.
     A group of_ MONKS _in the background are holding the parchment of_
     DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE’S _will_.

     DON ALFONSO D’ESTE _is seeking to restrain his father, who is
     making frantic gestures of despair. In the midst of the chamber_
     DONNA LUCREZIA _is extended on a litter-bed_.

     _Two_ DOCTORS _are anxiously bending over her with appliances for
     bleeding. One of them uncovers her foot, looks at the patient, then
     shakes his head despairingly._

     DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _stands a little apart,
     beside the couch_.


CESARE.

      I shall visit thee again: for that revive!
    Open thy eyes, Lucrece.
    ... Not dare to bleed her!
    Give me the little foot....
                                No sobs, Alfonso,
    For I must have the surety of a smile.
    Listen, Lucrece--

    [_To one of the_ DOCTORS, _who deprecates speech_.

                    This child is my chief captain,
    We must confer. Keep quiet to your work.

    [_The_ DOCTORS _operate_.

    [_To_ LUCRECE.] But if you cannot listen, then remember!
    What was my last assault?


LUCREZIA.

                                On Camerino....
    Straightway I took a little strength ... the letter--

    [_She makes a movement towards her pillow._


CESARE.

    You do not stir!


LUCREZIA.

                        An iron-grip, and yet
    I do not cry for mercy: it supports.


CESARE.

      The need is past--and but for mastery
    I keep my hold.
                    I shall visit thee again;
    But ere I can make speed I promise thee
    Such tidings--!


LUCREZIA.

    I am dizzy.


CESARE.

                                No, Lucrece,
    You are not dizzy: for I promise you,
    If you will pledge me to remain alive,
    That I will vanquish all my enemies.
    But I must have the oath.


LUCREZIA.

    A prayer--


CESARE.

    The oath


LUCREZIA.

      I cannot, death is on me.... Oh, I faint....
    [_The_ DOCTORS _press round_.] A cordial....


CESARE.

    No, a treaty!

     [_He lays the foot tenderly down and comes up close to_ LUCREZIA’S
     _ear_.

                              All my foes--
    You can lay them in the hollow of my hand;
    Or, perishing, you can put out the fires....
    And all the engines of my brain extinct!


LUCREZIA.

    What plots? What would you do?


CESARE.

    [_Bending over her._] I would fill all your cup.

    [_In response to a movement from_ LUCREZIA, CESARE
     _stoops down and kisses her. Then, as he raises himself, he turns
     to_ DON ALFONSO.

    The danger is quite passed: let us give thanks.

    [_He folds_ LUCREZIA’S _hands for prayer_.


LUCREZIA.

    [_Raising herself._] The danger is quite passed, and I shall live.


SCENE VI

     _Sinigaglia: a red sunset over snow. In front the Archway of the
     Palace; before it_ MESSER NICCOLO MACCHIAVELLI _meets_ DON
     MICHELOTTO DA CORELLA.


MICHELOTTO.

                          See, Messer Niccolo!
    We are even with our enemies. This rope--
    New rope ... the enemy
    Of Florence, Vitellozzo, and with him
    Oliveretto soon will tassel it.
    Ha, ha!
    The false Condottieri in one net,
    Fast as the souls in Hell!


MACCHIAVELLI.

      The fairest trap set by the coolest hand!
    Madonna’s blood! Stupendous!--
    Tell how the prey was trapped, Don Michelotto.
    For since the Duke received me at Cesena
    I met delay unlooked for. Artfully
    These fools, these traitors had been brought to terms,
    Bribes and dissensions seeding in their midst,
    Till in mock penitence they won this town:
    The Duke had quartered all their troops afar,
    On pretext of the ground his troops must cover
    When he marched in to hold the citadel--
    So much was rumoured at Cesena. Thrill me
    To the last fibre of my brain: relate!


MICHELOTTO.

      The crazy fools, the bankrupts
    In fortune and in wit!
    Our Duke with gentleness, mansuetude
    Landed the waverers.... His smile--
    Had you seen it finger this doomed shoal--his welcome,
    His kiss ... the lure, a heavy spell
    We, his executants, broke off from, anxious:
    Such air a dragon sleeps in. Altogether
    Riding, they chatted conquests, paused at last
    Outside the palace ... but a smile, the tickle
    Of expert angler, and a steady gesture--
    Solid they were within, their host excused
    For change of dress....
                                Then cries, then execrations!
    Changed men, our prisoners, in our power, outwitted,
    White to the lids--for, Messer Macchiavelli,
    They had shaken us with ruin.


MACCHIAVELLI.

                                  True!
    Florence--and Rome--believed your master lost!
    A captain with no army, with rebellion
    The stuff of his command, and France unsure!
    He ruled himself as gods do. Of my knowledge,
    This lord Duke, _divus Borgia_, is superb,
    Magnificent and in himself a king.


MICHELOTTO.

    Messer Ambassador, if thus you worship,
    Let Florence strike alliance with my lord:
    Your fruitless praise but brings his brow down, shapes
    His lips unkindly when the name of Florence
    Or that of Messer Niccolo drifts by.


MACCHIAVELLI.

      I have written and will write
    To Florence and her Gonfalonier.


MICHELOTTO.

                                      _Basta!_
    Always what you will do, and Florence always
    A paralytic!
                  Messer Macchiavelli,
    Your face, while I related, took my eyes,
    As you had been a fiery gallant, hearing
    His love’s deliverance vouched. Will a cold hanging-off
    Bring any man to his desire? _Satana!_
    I think your whole of statecraft is the rack;
    Your smile puts to the question ... bah, my fingers,
    My toes knot under it!


MACCHIAVELLI.

                                Then leave me, friend,
    And knot your rope for Vitellozzo fast,
    Fast for Oliveretto.


MICHELOTTO.

    [_Turning toward the archway._] Nay--behold!

     _Enter through the arch_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA,
     _on his white horse, in silver armour, crimsoned, like the snow,
     with sundown_.


MACCHIAVELLI.

      Congratulations, Excellence! Believe me,
    You have the brightest face in all the world.


CESARE.

      Come close!
    Your Florence, Messer Niccolo, has reason
    To love me: all her petty enemies
    Are in this hand for swallowing. Have I not
    Betokened what I feed on, by my blazon--
    A snake that gorges reptiles? Ha, the meal!
    Do you remember
    The ogres in our nurses’ tales laughed out
    Before they gulped?... To-night, to-night a supper
    Of creeping tyrants!


MACCHIAVELLI.

                        Vitellozzo,
    Oliveretto....


CESARE.

                          Hoo! My appetite!
    Let Florence eat with me!
      [_Closing his eyes and laughing._] It was a game,
    The catching of these imps!
                                Truth, Messer Niccolo,
    I am a boy again!
                      Ho-heigh! There will be music,
    Romagnole pipes ... I love that rocky hills
    And streams should be in music....
                                              Michelotto,
    Those rascal French are pillaging--see, there!
    Go, hang a dozen, swing them high!
    My citizens of Sinigaglia shall not
    Be plucked by crows--up with a dozen, high!

    [_Exit_ MICHELOTTO.

    [_To_ MACCHIAVELLI.] Tell Florence she had better be my friend
    Than enemy.


MACCHIAVELLI.

    Always....


CESARE.

                                No words--
    Eloquent acts like mine! Ingratitude
    It were--no less--now I have made this banquet
    If Florence show reluctance any more;
    And it would be resented.
                                We must ride
    Round to the fortress: as the sun goes down
    A conqueror’s eye must look upon his army
    To rule it as by light....
                                And afterward ... ha, ha!
    The ogre’s banquet, the Romagnole pipes!
    Heigh, _festa, festa_! [_He rides on._


MACCHIAVELLI.

      Enchantment take me! What a singular
    And terrifying creature! Dragon--yea,
    Intelligent and deep; a libbard faithless
    As any spotted beast; a Roman Eagle.
    He fires me as some sovereign Cleopatra,
    Infecting whom she animates.
                                  O my poor Florence,
    And I adore your Dread ... ah, but with lust,
    Not love, for I could injure him, bring ruin
    Upon him, for your sake.... And yet those shoulders
    Are high above all princes, Italy!
    Those eyes droop over reaches of wide dream;
    The hand a vice! Lilies of Florence, day
    And night he is my fire; I need no chafing--
    Always a fire--not in my heart, good wife,
    My scolding Marietta; but in my head;
    And all my faculties a throng around it,
    With reddened aspect and the cheer of life.
    I am bewitched, growing in my enchantment
    Magician rather than Ambassador
    Of the Signoria: I possess a kingdom;
    And, when this Borgia smiles on me, a Prince.

    [_The sun has set and stars come out over the snow._


SCENE VII

     _A secret cabinet in the Vatican. A snowy day._

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _chafes his hands by a charcoal brazier_.


ALEXANDER.

    How cold! [_Stirring the fuel._
    And cold too in the turret. Ice and fire!
    And the ice stronger than the fire--the fire
    Mere dying ash!
                      O God, this Cesar!
    Ancient of Days, what art Thou
    Except Thou hast a Son executant,
    And all Thy crafty thoughts are in His heart?
    Ancient of Days!
                          My forces
    Are failing, I have lost my grip. This Cesar....
    Oh, he is tyrant over me! I feel him
    As a great stone my heart gives way beneath:
    If he encroaches
    There will be nothing in my breast but stone.

     [MESSER PINCIONE _is introduced by_ MONSIGNORE BURCHARD, _who
     retires_.

    Well, Messer Pincione? Is it cold?
    Can you not answer when I question you?


PINCIONE.

      Eh, Blessèdness.
    I bring this from His Excellence the Duke. [_Giving a letter._


ALEXANDER.

      Warm yourself.... [_Reading_].... Mortal cold!
                                                But warm yourself.
    Say, Messer Pincione, to your master,
    Lord Cardinal Orsini languishes
    In the strict prison of the Borgia Tower;
    And so has languished
    Since his vile traitor-nephew was entangled
    At Sinigaglia in the wondrous net.


PINCIONE.

      Until he be Death’s treasure, can you pounce,
    Holiness, on his treasure? Can you feed
    The troops that press the verge of Tuscany?


ALEXANDER.

      True, true: our Duke requires his requiem, true!
    Ah, Sinigaglia; ah, the wondrous net!
    And these Orsini--
    A brood of enemies, the murderers
    It may be of Giovanni.... Ho! what cold!...
    Well, well!
    A cruel kindred, a most wicked race,
    Our enemies, our enemies, and worthy
    Of death’s extinguishing. [_Reading again._
                              The postscript? Show me
    This _cantarella_. [PINCIONE _gives him a phial_.
                        Ha! It is like a sugar
    Of pearl; like the rare dust that Cleopatra
    Drank of a dis-orbed pearl. Its facture? Tell me
    The elements, how braised and how compounded?


PINCIONE.

      Eh, eh--your Blessèdness.
    A boar being killed, and arsenic-poison salted
    About the entrails thrown to putrefaction,
    From thence at last a liquid is withdrawn
    In thrice-stilled deadliness.


ALEXANDER.

    The action?


PINCIONE.

                                              Slow,
    But sure in death....


ALEXANDER.

    [_Calling._] Poto!

_He enters._

                        Monsignore Burchard
    Finds the Lord Cardinal Orsini weary,
    And struggling with a pain that trusses him,
    A wild-fire inflammation?


POTO.

                              Sick,
    And troubled with a flux.


ALEXANDER.

    [_Sotto voce._] Pain--and its end!


PINCIONE.

      Your Blessèdness will give authority
    For what must intervene?


ALEXANDER.

                              Good Poto,
    Take Messer Pincione to the jailer
    Who keeps the Tower. [_To_ PINCIONE.] To-night, after the play,
    “Epidicus”--I cannot miss the play,
    Not for the quick or dead, and lenience,
    Some lenience we should give to sluggish nature--
    To-night I will receive you privately.
    Well, Messer Pincione, will you stand
    Till doomsday with your little heap
    Of cruel pearls?


A VOICE.

    [_Outside._] A gift for Holy Father!


BURCHARD’S VOICE.

      No, boy, go back!
    The chamber is deep-secret. On the pain
    Of death, go back.


ALEXANDER.

                        A gift!
    Gifts are warm faggots on the winter coldness.
    A gift! We will receive it.
                                Poto, hasten!
    Take Messer Pincione to the Tower--
    From the Duke Cesare. [_Exit_ POTO _with_ PINCIONE.
                            ’Twere merciful!
    Queen Cleopatra drank the like for glory,
    As this Orsini for his body’s ease....
    The cold! How sudden is my age
    Upon me as a drift! By all the devils,
    I might be turned to stone!

_Enter_ MONSIGNORE BURCHARD _with a_ BOY.

                          Sa, sa! My present! Hither!
    Anticipation has a zest.... God’s rattle,
    I am astounded--
    This lightsome whiteness! The Orsini pearl,
    The well-beloved, the whitest light of pearls,
    The sun-confronting rainbows, moist and purple!
    Boy, did you steal it?


THE BOY.

                            No. In his munificence
    Lord Cardinal Orsini on his mistress
    Bestowed this wonder; at his mother’s prayer
    It is presented to you for the boon
    That she herself prepare his food. O Father,
    She fed him in his helpless infancy;
    Now, in his danger and imprisonment,
    Create for her afresh the power sweet nature
    Endowed her with, at need.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Gazing at the pearl._] Arched, various,
    Of shower, of cloud, sun-braving, sun-embroidered,
    The breast-drop of a goddess!... All your prayer!


THE BOY.

    The order--now?


ALEXANDER.

                      The order from my hand.
    Poto....

_He re-enters._

                Bring pen and parchment.
    It wooes--ah, it assails! [_Exit_ POTO.
                              Abundance of enchantment!

POTO _re-enters_.

    The paper--so! An order _Prius cibum
    Et potum ministrare Cardinali_.
    This charitable Brief well buys such beauty.
    Comfort his mother; bid her
    Season his dishes, but take cognizance
    We must not set our heart upon our sons.
    The motherly, rich heart--deny her? Nay,
    But I am warmed to hear of such devotion.
    A handsome woman too! Her son is sick,
    Remember! _Addio!_

    [MONSIGNORE BURCHARD _takes the_ BOY _out_.

    [_Holding up the pearl._] Sweet child, on thy forehead,
    My spotless Este, my far evening-star,
    This white crest on thy white!

    [_He stands absorbed and sad awhile._

    Now it comes over me the hand that offered
    This pearl, the voice that offered was a woman’s.
    Venus! Lord Cardinal Orsini’s mistress!
    A pretty piece of faith. _Santi_--O Venus,
    A kind heart that could lay this wonder out
    To buy him wholesome feeding.... Yea, a woman!
    I would have kissed the boy had I divined--
    A woman!... _Sancta Virgo Virginum_,
    _Foederis Arca_, thou hast saved my soul!
    Saved of a pearl, _Janna Coeli_, saved!
    I would not take an aged life: I appeal
    To Providence to feed my raven, my
    Young, ominous, black raven! He will come
    Down on me from his camp: then ... _Dio meo!_
    I would give half my Papacy if never
    He might return.... Nay, nay!...
                              _Mater Purissima_,
    O gracious sun-pearl!

     [_In black, and black mask_, DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA
     ROMAGNA _glides in, closing the door behind him_.


CESARE.

      [_Without unmasking._] Splendid! Put it by--
    France has forbidden me another stroke
    Of arms, and I have ridden
    Swift as the wind rides air, by day, by night,
    To reach your counsel, fix our policy.


ALEXANDER.

      I have found France of late a slackening friend;
    And I have dandled Spain and sung her soft;
    At the first open moment she is ours.


CESARE.

      Spain! You would threaten France?
                                        _Diavolo_,
    It is a game of patience quivering
    Upon its leash....


ALEXANDER.

    Are all the rebel-mercenaries slaughtered?


CESARE.

      Of the Orsini only one--Giordano
    Braves us at Bracciano.... Some one knocks.
    Send them away. [_He hides in a further closet._


ALEXANDER.

    Enter!

_Re-enter_ POTO.


POTO.

                                        Your Blessedness,
    Lord Cardinal Orsini died this morning;
    All our physicians
    Could not subdue his terror that has summoned
    The death it feared.


ALEXANDER.

    You watched?


POTO.

    I watched him; as a babe, he breathed his last.


ALEXANDER.

      Good, good Orsini--as a babe! His mother
    Bears but the common loss.
                                    I am shaking, Poto.
    Quick, to his private house, surprise the treasure;
    Go, seal it ours; go, inventory all. [_Exit_ POTO.
    [_At the door._] Command Burcardus lay the Cardinal
    Where it is public to the scrutiny
    Of the whole world he died a natural death.


POTO’S VOICE.

      Burcardus, Holiness, refuses portion
    In this affair.


ALEXANDER.

                Poltroonery! Then, Poto,
    Command his office.
    [_Returning._] Heaven has interposed.
    [_To_ CESARE, _who advances_.] Lord Cardinal Orsini
    Is dead now....


CESARE.

                    _Cantarella_ does not check.
    It is game!


ALEXANDER.

                  Most sure. But, Cesare,
    The joy, the fortune--he has died by nature,
    And can be shown lying in simple death....

    [CESARE _laughs derisively_.

    Your coming struck him dead, fair basilisk.
    Unshadow you.... The face!


CESARE.

                              No, I am soiled and marred.
    I am not well.


ALEXANDER.

                      Giordano
    Flaunts it at Bracciano? Cesare,
    Unroost him; we will finish the whole brood.


CESARE.

      He clings to France; we must not threaten him
    Till we can threaten Louis.


ALEXANDER.

                                Straight
    You shall unroost him.


CESARE.

                            No! The Lilies
    Of France are the white badges of my fortune.
    I shall not break with France too suddenly.


ALEXANDER.

    This is my will and I must be obeyed.


CESARE.

    [_His fingers twisting his sword-chain._] Not mine.


ALEXANDER.

                          Unless you do this thing and bury
    The brood that hates us, I withdraw from you
    My treasure and I excommunicate
    A disobedient son. It is my will.

     [CESARE’S _fingers twist the chain so violently it snaps, and the
     sword drops to the ground_.


CESARE.

      I am your fool....
    The fool of all these Kings, this Pope. No throne!
    There is no throne....
    [_With a low bow._] Your abject servitor!


ALEXANDER.

      Hush! But in this my will. Paternity
    Sees with hot passion where the foe is hidden.
    You yield obedience, son?


CESARE.

    Your fool, your fool!


ALEXANDER.

      The voice so slack, my heart,
    Its cordiality unbraced! Nay, nay,
    You are over-wearied. Come into your Stanze.
    At your bedside, when you are laid to rest,
    And have drunk wine and eaten, I will ponder
    Our state-craft, and receive from you the story
    Of Sinigaglia.


CESARE.

                     That is past.
    Our talk must all lie onward.... Whew, the pain
    Of riding rough for hours!


ALEXANDER.

    I hate you black like this--night on your face.


CESARE.

    I am marred.


ALEXANDER.

   --But as you will. Come, rest.




ACT V


SCENE I

     _A very squalid, little street, giving on to the Tiber. It is low
     tide; some few stars are coming out. A masked figure seats itself
     on the remains of an old barge, tilted up._

     CHILDREN _peep from their play: then one of them whispers to his
     companions: they flee_.

     _A few_ BARGEMEN _come up and observe the_ MASK; _one shakes his
     head_.


BARGEMAN.

Better be absent! No, no! Do not observe him, Bernardo. If you hear
nothing, see nothing, contain nothing, you cannot be hanged.


ANOTHER.

Do not cringe; haul in those nets. ’Tis safer so.

     [_They set to work; an oar drops with noise. One or two salute the_
     MASK, _but, at the slow turning of his head, they go away_.

     [_Two_ CARDINALS _land from the opposite bank; they pause, then
     shuffle into the night_.

     [_The_ MASK _shifts his posture_.


THE MASK.

      My lusts are heavy in me,
    Heavy and idle. I have poisoned Rome;
    It gasps and wriggles: not an ounce of flesh
    In all this Rome but quivers in my shadow.
    And what is next to do? And who will fall?
    They dream all fixed
    Within this brain--and I am but an eagle
    Moving subservient to the ranker air.

    [_Another masked figure advances stealthily._

    Eigh, Michelotto!


MICHELOTTO.

    [_In a whisper._] Caught, gagged--those false Albanians!


CESARE.

                      Shall I sentence
    A troop of tetchy mercenaries? Ho,
    Boon fellow, have I brought you here to-night,
    By this dim waterside, to give me tidings
    Of a few minnows trapped, that should be landed
    Unconscious in the haul?
                              I have seen burthen
    Of princes on this back; I have seen their jewels
    Dangling from belt and chains. What sights
    I have beheld....


MICHELOTTO.

    And shall, if you will trust me with your hopes.


CESARE.

      Uncertain! [_They are silent._
                    Hopes--a hollow!
    Slaughter the flocks of Ajax!


MICHELOTTO.

                              Stay!
    God’s health, you have your plans, or I am palsied!


CESARE.

    [_Pulling_ MICHELOTTO’S _ear-ring_.

    Fondling, I have my plans: but not as God
    Hovers His hand among the elements
    To pick His missile; rather as Olympus,
    Blustering and fickle, backs the game at Troy.
    [_After a pause._] I am tense and weary;
    I dream too much--the fever of my dreaming
    Strikes me at head of hosts,
    And some in Spanish armour, some in French,
    Innumerable hosts....

     [MICHELOTTO _scans him anxiously; then rises, shaking himself_.


MICHELOTTO.

      Come with me, come eaves-dropping! Ho, my wits
    Were never nimbler; to each blood-caprice
    I will give satisfaction, as a mistress
    Stirs to appease her lord’s carnality.


CESARE.

      [_In the same tone._] I watched you strangling
                  Trocchio ... but my father
    Wept with shut eyes his trusted secretary
    Fled from his table to betray our dealings
    With Spain to France. The Vatican is dull!
    Scruples are there and injuries and age....
    [_On his feet._] Why, like a hawk in ringing flight, I harassed
    The creature for an hour to find if secret
    From France we had cut off his treachery:
    And in the Papagallo
    My father wept! Ho, Trocchio swings out now
    Where all can see him from Sant’ Angelo--
    His master and the Curia and the people.
    My father wept.... At noon was he not merry
    When Cardinal Michele’s death assured us
    One hundred fifty thousand ducats? _Ecco!_
    I did not sing my _cantarella’s_ praise.
    Dull at the Vatican!
                          And what to do?
    Join Spain and join Gonsalvo, a commander
    Even of my wing, the conqueror of Naples;
    Or hold obsequious in my tethered hand
    The Gallic fleur-de-luce?
                              Unpleasant gulfs,
    Shoals!... And to poise before the Balances
    Watching their poise!


MICHELOTTO.

    But you regret no action?


CESARE.

      [_Stalking to the edge of the water._] I do not weep by graves!...
    Looking across the cities that I love,
    Across the sheepfolds and the little cities....

[_His voice trembles and he laughs._]

                Pastoral! And for cause _Vicarius sum
    Sanctae Ecclesiae_!... Good Michelotto,
    Hire me a boat, and row me down the stream.


SCENE II

     _The Garden of the Vatican, toward sunset._

     _The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI., _the_ LORD CARDINAL BARTOLOMEO OF
     SEGOVIA, _the_ LORD BISHOP OF VENOSA _and_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO.


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

    The sun eats as a canker.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                                Rome
    Is festering with this fever like a pest.
    I move and speak with strange uneasiness,
    As if the motions of my life had fear.


ALEXANDER.

      _Sol in Leone!_ There is nothing pleasant
    When the year fills that tract ... rage, rage, and sandy,
    Consuming light!
                        I live a damp, old horse,
    O’er-ridden by the ardour of the air:
    No neatness round my throat, the cope flung off,
    And all the passion of my flesh for shade.
    Here there are shady grottoes from the darkness
    Of trees; the heat is here unpressed by walls;

     [_Little_ DON RODRIGO _and_ DON GIOVANNI _come from behind a
     shrubbery_.

    Here children at their play
    Show us their lissome bodies and red faces
    _Sol in Leone_ cannot agitate.
    My lords, you see we sink on holiday,
    And, fearful, take much care to keep our person
    From danger--so persuaded by these deaths
    Of daily happening: under ilex-trees
    We ply our statecraft.
                            France has bidden us
    Prove our fidelity and help her king
    To oust from Naples Spain. Our holy troops
    And gonfalon will be in readiness
    Within six days, and we must part awhile
    From our Duke Cesare.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                          Wise sacrifice!
    You know the Church has all to gain from France.


ALEXANDER.

      So it is thought, my lord.
    ... Well, mite, Giovanni!
    You run across the gravel with a shell,
    A little, empty house, and hot as lead
    Fired from a cannon?
                          Nestle all your curls
    Under a few, large vine-leaves. Tell Rodrigo
    He must not dip his head within the fountain--
    The cold will make him break out of a plague.
    Run, run and pull him from the brim.... Yes, baby,
    Leave me your shell.
                          My lords, go in awhile.
    Poto shall serve cooled wine.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

                                  No, no!
    To drink increases thirst. I will not drink.


ALEXANDER.

    Cooled wine--


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    No, no!

    [_The_ POPE _laughs deprecatingly_.


ALEXANDER.

    I have not poisoned it.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    No, no!

     [_They bow deeply to each other, and_ POTO _takes the_ CARDINAL
     _and_ BISHOP _within_.


ALEXANDER.

    [_To one of the children, as he perceives his son._

    Roble, play further off!

     [DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _comes to his side_.

                            Just up and had your meal?
    There is some sense in your strange hours when _Sol_
    Is _in Leone_--night for day!
    But, though your room be marble, what Inferno
    Of flame to sleep through the bare hotness.


CESARE.

                                          Father,
    If you enjoy the fresher feel of night,
    I bring an invitation you will welcome
    From the Lord Adrian of Cornuto.


ALEXANDER.

                                        Ah,
    He has a vineyard under broad-leaved shadow,
    Where gods could sup.


CESARE.

                          Where you will sup,
    To-morrow evening.


ALEXANDER.

                        _Baccho!_
    It will be cool. The country is a blessing
    To think of when it darkens and revives.


CESARE.

    You will not heat with riding at that hour.


ALEXANDER.

      And I am careful now ... a little anxious
    To see you start.


CESARE.

                      Too hot and still
    For camps or marches ... like a painful dream!

    [_He sits by his father._


ALEXANDER.

      Ay, so, so!
                  Cesare, if this strong heat
    Struck me with apoplexy, pest, or fever,
    You would be struck with peril.... O my heart,
    My prince, could you endure from your own root,
    And bear the shock of onset?


CESARE.

                                    Always
    I built broad the foundations of my power.
    The kindred
    Of all I dispossessed are gone from earth,
    Where no successor of your Holiness
    Could raise them my opponents: half my train
    Is filled with high-born nobles, once the servants
    Of Colonnesi and Orsini, now
    My gentlemen and hung upon my fortune
    As it were hope itself: the Sacred College,
    You know, is more than half subservient to me....
    But--are you ailing?


ALEXANDER.

                          No, no--hot and dull,
    Not ailing.


CESARE.

                There are dancers, courtesans,
    Who will in movements of the long-lost breeze
    Fan the dead air--if you will visit me
    To-night: to-morrow in the vineyard-garden
    We sup.... ’Tis hard to get the dancers now:
    The women shut their doors and strike their bodies
    In terror at the fever that can kill.
    They need await no other--lust is dead.
    ... You will announce at the next Consistory
    I join the French?


ALEXANDER.

                        Ay--with the treaties
    Between us and the Spaniards and Gonsalvo
    Safe in my coffers: for the French will fail;
    And, though they raised you up, they hold you back
    From Florence and your clutch on Tuscany.
    You have Romagna firm.


CESARE.

                              O father,
    Live a few years and I shall be your king!
    As you love me, live till Tuscany is mine.
    Live, live!


ALEXANDER.

                For you
    I have done harder things than conquer death.

    [_They are silent._

    What are the great eyes dreaming of?


CESARE.

                                          The heat,
    And something dreadful in it--of the places,
    Corneto, Piombino, yet ungirdled
    By one domain.
      [_Rising impetuously._] Oh, to desert the French!
    Although I march
    As of their army, at their first reverse
    We close the northern passages.


ALEXANDER.

                                    Ha, ha, ha! ha!
    A trap for Louis....
                      --Cardinal Michele
    Was suddenly distempered by this ill,
    Dying as swiftly as if venom wrought:
    So fatal is the weather to stout frames!
    Son, I incline to fat.... I would I owned
    Your thin and agile limbs.


CESARE.

                            I would that half the years
    Of my short life--for, like Achilles’, short
    My life will be, if glorious--I might give
    To build yours over four score years and ten!


ALEXANDER.

      Ah, God! Such wishes weigh on me unkindly,
    ... Nay, not unkindly! But your eyes are swept
    So wide across the breadths of Italy,
    You call up years for me as if you were
    A necromancer, not my very son
    Whose proud, hot Spanish blood, whose fire and courage
    Have given my flesh its youth again so often.
    Your mother’s land is changing you, beloved--
    All schemes, all plots ... and where now is the smile
    That flashed along your lips and made me sing
    _Ave Maria plena gratia_--where?

    [CESARE _moves impatiently_.


CESARE.

      I am grown anxious, as my foemen’s watch
    When one of my huge pieces takes its station
    For ruin’s work.... This pestilential heat!...
    Well, Roble, what an orange you have snatched,
    Round as your eyes!
      [_To_ ALEXANDER.] Lucrece!--Oh, have you seen her
    Look at you from the child?
      [_With a bitter laugh._] I shall begin
    To talk of years ago, like an old man.
    Farewell!
    They need me at the Mola.
      [_With a smile._] Then to night
    The dance! To-morrow the _al fresco_ feast! [_Exit._


ALEXANDER.

    I’m envious of Lucrezia, and weary,
    More weary than with August--all my passion
    Hard on my heart at last! My Cesare,
   --Beautiful and cold as steel, his mind
    Shining and shallow as the moon--for certain,
    If he had been Medea, he had simmered
    My ageing body in the cauldron’s flood,
    Like Æson’s, for his purpose.... Solitary!
    Age, age! And when the young are still,
    The young who should be noisy, it is vacant.
    I shall see Lucrezia in the spring: and yet
    I know I shall not see her.
                                There, I am glad
    The children have been captured by their nurse.
    _Buona notte_, little ones! [_The_ CHILDREN _are taken away_.
                                Ah, but I would
    I were as other fathers, and could make him
    My heritor, and aid him by my death.
    It is so good the old should die;
    It is very good to die, but I must live;
    I must subserve, must give my hand
    In signature to any of his dreams,
    Taking, _in caritate_,
    A lovely eye-glance from him.... And Lucrece
    Gone too, her husband’s prisoner! Where my Pearl
    And my great royal Diamond have been set
    Here in my bosom--hollows!
                                And this twilight
    Is filling them....
      [_With a sudden, terrified cry._] Lucrezia, Cesare!
    Lucrece!


SCENE III

     _The_ POPE’S _bedchamber in the Borgia Apartments_.

     MONSIGNORE BURCHARD _at the bed’s head watching: two card-players
     at a little table by the bedside. The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _is
     sitting up in bed, his glazed eyes fixed on the game. A crowd of_
     PHYSICIANS, SURGEONS, APOTHECARIES. _The_ CARDINALS _consulting
     anxiously with the_ POPE’S CHIEF PHYSICIAN, _the_ LORD BISHOP OF
     VENOSA.


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

    Does he see?
                  Does he attend?


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

                                    He sees; but if the dying
    Attend, or how to construe their attention,
    Whether their eyes are purged, or focus fresh
    We scarce may reckon. These illumined eyes
    Are abstract, steady in their fever-light:
    My lords, ere morning we shall see them fade,
    Or soften into life. A child-like nature,
    That may just slip away, or, fronting death,
    As at a play, leave the grim stage behind,
    And join us unsuspicious in the street.

_Enter_ BONAFEDE, LORD BISHOP OF CHIUSI, _hurriedly_.


BONAFEDE.

    Physician!


VENOSA.

                  Ay, lord Bonafede--you
    Come from a bed of even graver sickness,
    More tragic, youth contending.


BONAFEDE.

                    Hush! Duke Cesare
    Has but one thought--His Holiness.


VENOSA.

      [_Taking the_ BISHOP _by the shoulders to the bed_.] That message,
    Repeat it.... Then the trance
    May lighten or remove.


BONAFEDE.

      [_To the_ POPE.] Most well-beloved,
    Duke Cesare asks from his bed of sickness
    For tidings of you. Every hour he sends,
    And every hour
    I droop him with despair. Speak of him, bless him;
    Assure him of your energy to live.


ALEXANDER.

      [_Smiling from his dark eyes._] Lord Bonafede, you are temporal.
    Look there.... I watch the game.
                                      I do not care
    Now who is playing or who wins: I watch.


BONAFEDE.

    The Duke is very sick.


ALEXANDER.

                    Look there! The Chance,
    And how it tosses to and fro!


BURCHARD.

                                  My lord
    Takes interest in the fortunes of the game?

    [_The_ POPE _nods_.


ALEXANDER.

      I rally--
    Ay, honest Burchard, set it down--I rally.


CARDINALS.

      Then speak your last requests.
   --How can we serve you?
   --What of Duke Cesare? Your benediction!
   --What of your soul?


ALEXANDER.

      I am too busy dying. Bonafede--
    This dying is itself a little house,
    And one within
    That cherishes soft as a nurse, indulgent,
    And lets one wake or sleep.
      [_To one of the_ CARD-PLAYERS.] How foolish of you!
    You have lost your chances, listening to my talk.
    You have no meaning
    Unless you are intent upon the game.
    Kiss me, good Bonafede, and your prayers.

    [_Exit_ BONAFEDE _weeping_.

    Now leave me to the air.


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

    He will fall asleep.


ALEXANDER.

      I promise you
    That I will make no noise.... I ever
    Slept as a child, and wallowed in the feathers
    Seven times at waking ... ha! And do you sleep
    Till time for the next Office. Burchard dozes;
    Put by the cards, and I will watch his face.

     [_The_ CROWD _withdraws from the bed: the_ POPE _chuckles, after
     fixing his eyes on_ BURCHARD; _then his eyes close_.


CARDINALS.

      How wanton of his end!
   --What of his soul?
   --The noontide
    To me is full of strange attentiveness.
    Angels, or fiends?


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

    Has he not made confession?


CARDINALS.

      Ay, of concupiscence and simony,
    If one may dare surmise--his open sins.
    But of his secret sins! Think how they hide
    And loom where fear is with them in men’s thoughts!
   --They say he sold his soul to Lucifer
    For full eleven years; and all are told.

    [_A wind stirs the curtains._

   --He comes, he comes!
   --An apparition like a monkey! Horror!
    A straggling darkness....
   --Are you sure? A monkey?
   --And sounds!
    Far more than seven devils are watching us.


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

    He has received Viaticum, Last Unction.


CARDINALS.

      Ah, but he cannot die until his Master
    Rise from below to take him, cannot die
    As sinners do accepted by their God.
   --He sleeps when he should die.
   --Closed up in sin,
    A sullen Viper of the woods!
   --Remember....
    Think of the death of Cardinal Michele,
    Think of the Cardinal Orsini, think
    Of Don Alfonso, Duke Astorre!
   --Ay,
    Think of the Lady Daughter.


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

                              Tales and bibble-babble!
    Go, chatter with your monkey, fraternise!
    He will not tickle this last sleep, my lords;
    Give him your company.


A CARDINAL.

                                But tell us, Doctor,
    Low in the ear, have not this son and father
    Drunk of the cup Orsini and Michele
    Drank at their hands? Have they not been envenomed?


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

      Yea, by the hand of God, but not of man--
    The venom of His secret pestilence,
    The fever walking in this August air.


THE SAME CARDINAL.

    Both struck together--is not that the singing
    Of _cantarella_?


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

                    By my faith, lords--no.
    The hand of God hath struck, and who shall tell
    How far His mercy or His wrath is set?
    Physicians cure by hope.

_Re-enter_ LORD BONAFEDE.


BONAFEDE.

                            The lord Duke Cesare
    Is worse. Physician!


CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

      [_To the_ BISHOP OF VENOSA.] Can you leave this bedside?
    You cannot!


BISHOP OF VENOSA.

      [_Rising._] Youth!
    Youth and desire of life!
      [_To attendants._] Fetch me a mule,
    And from its hollowed entrails we will tear
    Our Cesar reconceived, regenerate:
    Or, should the live heat fail, fetch me an oil-jar,
    Brimming with vault-drawn water. Haste for life!
    The Duke is worse. He shall survive.

    [_The_ POPE _has opened his eyes_.

                                              Dear Father,
    I will bring you in an hour word that your Duke
    Makes speed to visit you.

     [_The_ DOCTOR _and the other_ SURGEONS _and_ APOTHECARIES, _with
     the_ CARDINALS _and_ ATTENDANTS, _pass in an excited company from
     the room_.


ALEXANDER.

      [_To himself._] But Burchard
    Alters no muscle: nothing of importance
    Therefore has passed....
                                My Chronicler,
    And I have never looked into your books!

    [_Glancing round, pleased._

    Ah, they have left me lonely! How delicious
    It is to be neglected when one dies.

     [_Mischievously tickling_ BURCHARD’S _nose with a fan that lies on
     the bed_.

    Burchard, good-night!


BURCHARD.

    [_Yawning._] O Holiness!


ALEXANDER.

      You are napping at your post!
                                    It does not matter.
    You looked so ugly when you lay asleep,
    I waked you: comely
    You are when stiff and handsome in your clothes.

     [BURCHARD _stands formal before his master, who looks up at him,
     appealingly_.

    Bright eyes,
    Take no more record of me: do not publish
    These stains, these swollen limbs.
                                        Give me the mirror
    That my last breath shall soil--that is its use!
    But I will snatch it as in youth.... Vanozza,
    Giulia, and a little earlier one--
    Well, well, I gave them happiness.

    [BURCHARD, _scandalised, seeks a crucifix_.

                                        Good Master
    Of the Ceremonies, did you take account
    Of my beauty when you chronicled my dress?
    I have been very handsome ...
                                  He is gone,
    Stolen off in horror at my vanity.
    And yet this beauty is not vanity;
    The vanity is when it falls away,
    And crumbles into nothingness.
                                    Even our Lady
    Keeps power of intercession for us all
    By loveliness that in simplicity
    Draws God to will its pleasure as His will
    And perfect pleasure. [_Folding his hands._
                        _Rosa Mystica_,
    O Flower of God, O Rose, O Spotless one,
    Thou dost unfold to us thy sweet--in showers
    Thy fragrancy, thy dews are shed on me;
    Thou droppest on my darkness as soft leaves.

    [_He lies back, his eyelids softly stirring._

    And there are scents--delicious--violets
    And roses--unexpected--dropping down,
    And running through the air. So unexpected,
    So secret to me ... Violets, a gift,
    As women give fresh from the hand ...
                                          The flowers!

    [_He lifts himself, rounding his arms to garner the vision._

     [BURCHARD _advances with_ LORD BONAFEDE _and several_ CARDINALS.


BURCHARD.

    The Lord Duke is revived.


ALEXANDER.

                                No matter now;
    I am dying, I am safe. [_Rolling on his side away from them._
                            There, do not crowd me--
    My heart is offered. _Ite, missa est._


SCENE IV

     _The Palace at Ferrara._

     _The_ DUCHESS LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE, _dressed in mourning, in a
     small room. She is feeding birds._


LUCREZIA.

                                My doves,
    My little, gladsome ones.... Rodrigo!...
    My little Roman dove, my young, a softness
    Still to my bosom....
                              And this father--
    His love to me, and all the streams of pearls!
    They have not honourably buried him;
    They are not sorry. [_She weeps._
                      I have prayed so long:
    I have been angry. In my dreams I prayed;
    And then he broke it, for he came to me,
    His lips bulged out for kisses: “Dance, Lucrece,
    Dance to me, child; it is that grace prevails!”

    [_After a pause--to the doves._

    There, there! Fly out! There! Flutter on my shoulder,
    And let me catch you.
                          Father, do you mark,
    I am not weeping?--See, how they all settle
    About me, on my head, and on my bosom--
    See, how I rise and flutter them!

    [_She rises and the doves disperse from her in troops._

                                      How lightsome
    They come back to their roost! Dear Blessèdness,
    And this will give you peace....

     [_Suddenly she bows her golden head; the doves flutter down on it
     in a halo._


SCENE V

     NEPI: _a sullen evening over the volcanic country_. DUKE CESARE DE
     VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _lies stretched on a black litter along
     the terrace of the castle, under a clump of pomegranate-trees
     covered with blood-red apples_.

     _A beautiful_ MUTE _sits on the ground and watches his every look
     or gesture_.


CESARE.

      Banished from all the passion of events,
    While, like a sisterhood of Fates, at Rome,
    The Conclave sits--
    While hot night compasses these empty hills
    That once had fire and action! [_To the girl at his feet._
                                    O my Silence,
    What health in you, what pleasantness! A refuge,
    A sepulchre, yet not of death!
    They call Love blind: the finer love is dumb--
    Our horses’ love, our dogs’, our falcons’, thine.

     [_She rises by him to be caressed. As_ MADONNA DE’ CATANEI _comes
     to him, with a cup in her hand, the girl draws back and curls
     herself up in the roots of a cypress-tree_.


VANOZZA.

      It is the hour: forgive me, I have brought you
    The draught, my Duke.... But let me take your hand,
    And guide it to your lips.

    [_He drinks: suddenly she kisses the blond hair over his forehead._

                              You have been very near
    To death!


CESARE.

                Its grey sea-bank that almost beached me
    Were bliss to this denuded country.
                                        Mother,
    You loved my father fierily?


VANOZZA.

                                  God knows I mourn him;
    But as my very god I worshipped him.


CESARE.

      I am no Prince.... My lands
    Are almost gone; only the citadels
    Keep pledge of my old force. You and your Pope
    Gave me no tenure on the earth. I curse you,
    I curse you both. What was there left but ashes
    For me, he being extinguished?


VANOZZA.

                                  Excellence, you brought me
    Along with you, and from our enemies,
    For safety.


CESARE.

              --It is blood,
    The fascination of deep heritage,
    Compels the old race back to every city
    I vaunted mine....
                            I do not want you near,
    I brought you out of danger. Openly
    You are my mother, openly I drew you
    Behind my litter to a refuge: always,
    Till I am powerless, you will feel my power,
    Protecting you....

_Enter_ MESSER AGAPITO DA AMALIA.

                        And is Giovanni Sforza
    Restored to Pesaro?


AGAPITO

    My lord, he is.

    [CESARE _makes a hissing groan_.


CESARE.

    Is Guidobaldo in Urbino yet?


AGAPITO.

    My lord, he is.


CESARE.

    And all the Duchy lost?


AGAPITO.

      All the fair Umbrian Duchy has relapsed
    From your control. [_A silence._


CESARE.

                        Pandolfo Malatesta
    Has entered Rimini?


AGAPITO.

                        Oh, cease to question
    More of your fortune, with the purple
    Of pestilence across your lips, the trembling
    Of fever in your hands of war, beloved.


CESARE.

      Giacomo d’Appiano has returned
    To Piombino?


AGAPITO.

    Yes.


CESARE.

                          Ah, to my Piombino,
    Messer da Vinci
    Has re-erected for defence, a jewel
    Wrought by a cunning jeweller, a threat
    To Florence, a towered joy! So d’Appiano
    Calls it his own again?


AGAPITO.

    Yes, and it called him back.


CESARE.

      Agapito, there still is worse behind.
    Something not said is in you--publish it!


AGAPITO.

      Don Michelotto by the Florentines
    With his whole troop is captured.


CESARE.

                                      Michelotto!
    My curse on Florence! Messer Macchiavelli
    Promised safe-conduct to him ... and delayed,
    Playing me false.... What, Michelotto lost!
    All of my army, but these failing troops
    Camped on this sultry marl. Revolted dogs,
    That fawned about my chase!
    ... Agapito,
    Faithful, my pen, my representative
    As signature is of oneself, go yonder,
    Beside the cypress, gaze along the verge,
    Where the great plateaux bow down to its base
    From the Tiber valley: see if the Lord Vera
    Is riding hither
    With news of our new Pontiff.
                                    My suspense--
    Forced by the Sacred College to withdraw,
    When ill almost to death, my troops and cannon
    Ten miles away from Rome!
                                  Agapito!

    [_He lays his hand on his_ SECRETARY’S.

   --Hot?


AGAPITO.

    [_Kissing his hand._] Still the cruel sickness, empire’s canker?
    [_Turning to the cypress-mound_] I will look out.

     [_He stands by the trees. The_ MUTE _half-rears herself up, her
     face to the horizon_.


CESARE.

      [_To_ VANOZZA.] You gave me
    No rights: then why not happy chance? Of chance
    Has been my life, fortune my reeling glory.
    Why did you bear me under stars conspired
    Against the hour when fortune was supreme
    For gain or loss? I am a thing of hazard....
    You could not breed even luck in me, or give me
    The moment that is power.

     [VANOZZA _looks at him a long time in silence: then she falls on
     her knees at his side, and presses her lips against the ruby ring
     on his thumb_.


VANOZZA.

                                But I affirm
    You are more wonderful than all the stars;
    You are immortal for great fame, for greater
    Than I can give the wording of. I bore you--
    You are sacred, sacred. All the saints of heaven
    Hold you in virtue! I had many dreams
    When you were born. My Prince, though I could give you
    No rights, and fortune is not in our hands
    To give it where we love, I give you faith,
    A mother’s, simple as the faith I give
    To the High God--though He were poor, and nowhere
    Had place to lay His head.


CESARE.

                                No marvel
    My father, God’s own Sovereign-Vicar, loved you
    For over twenty years and with deep fire,
    As Jove loved mortals, as he took Europa
    On broad bull-shoulders, over many seas,
    To the quiet cave where she should bear a king.
    No marvel that this beauty,
    Proud even to rudeness in its provocation,
    Was as his hearth! Rodrigo Borgia’s son
    Asks your forgiveness.


VANOZZA.

                            Excellence!... But loose me!
    Are you so strong?
    Your breath beats at the nostrils as his beat.
    Loose!... Let me meet Messer Agapito....

     [_The_ MUTE _has pointed toward the horizon, touching_ AGAPITO’S
     _sleeve; he has watched intently for some time, and now advances_.


AGAPITO.

      News, news, Signore!
    I did not tell you till these travellers
    Were at our very gates.


CESARE.

      [_Shivering._] The dew comes down.
    Mother, the cloak with ermine! [_She goes out._

     [_The_ MUTE _creeps under the bushes to the further side of the
     litter and takes_ CESARE’S _hand that falls that way_.

LORD CARDINAL GIOVANNI VERA OF PERUGIA _enters attended_.


VERA.

                                    Della Rovere,
    Since you packed cards with him to save your Duchy,
    Vicariate and Gonfaloniership,
    Selling him all your Spanish votes, has triumphed,
    Yea, of your making, is Pope Julius now,
    Julius the Second.


CESARE.

                        Julius--Cesar
    Must be allies.


VERA.

                    I knelt down at his feet,
    I told his Holiness you lay in peril,
    Close on your death, and longed to die in Rome.


CESARE.

    [_With a laugh._] Well, he was touched?


VERA.

                                      He welcomes you,
    Gives you your old apartments in the Palace,
    And only dwarfs your escort to a hundred
    And fifty men.


CESARE.

      [_Touching_ VERA’S _wrist_.] Lord Vera,
    He told me, in hot pleading of his cause,
    Perchance I was his son. Conceive it, Vera--
    Twice of St. Peter’s line! We are complaisant,
    For we can take all glory at its worth.

     [MADONNA DE’ CATANEI _returns with the cloak of crimson and ermine.
     She and the_ MUTE _wrap it round_ CESARE’S _shoulders_.

    O mother, hear! [_Breaking into merry laughter._
    The Vatican receives us as before;
    The Vatican! [VANOZZA _brushes tears from her eyes_.
                  And shortly
    We shall recover all our own again,
    Rimini, Piombino, Imola,
    The duchies and the principalities.
    Even now each fortress in Romagna keeps
    As a locked coffer proof against our foes.
    The Vatican! The Stanze!
    The Gonfalon! We hold our very course.


SCENE VI

     _The Papagallo in the Borgia Apartments._

     _The_ LORD JULIUS II. _meeting_ DON GARCILASO DE LA VEGA, _Spanish
     Ambassador_.


JULIUS.

      No, Don Garcilaso, I am resolved.
    Here you will be received no more. Look round,
    And bid farewell;
    For in these tainted rooms I will not live:
    The reek of blood, the breath of heathendom
    Hang on them, and old perfumes of old orgies
    Float, if one wrings the velvets. Antichrist!
    Marranô! Devil!
    His whelp, this Valentino--sorry schemer--
    Is caged, but only
    By promises of freedom can we wrench
    The castles of the Holy Church away
    From the hooked talons. Mark me!
    Never must Valentino slip us, never
    Must he have range.... Jove placed all Ætna over
    The lawless powers of Earth ... I pass him on
    To Naples, to Gonsalvo, when he yields
    His castles up, as hostage that they yield:
    But, since your lord King Ferdinand, nor I,
    Nor true Gonsalvo can break word of faith,
    Not even to Perfidy’s own Sovereign Prince,
    Persuade your lord the king, and from my lips,
    To have this murderer of his brother seized
    At instance of the Duke of Gandia’s widow,
    Then shipped to Spain, to the Hesperides,
    And to his last accompt.


DON GARCILASO.

                        _Laudabilis
    Perfidia!_ ... On my faith!
    The Carthaginian faith--yet I applaud.
    [_Meditating._] Arrested for the murder of his brother,
    So old a sin, and blotted out so clear
    By fresher stains....


JULIUS.

    [_Pointing to a picture by_ PINTORICCHIO _on an easel_.

                              Behold the family--
    I will erase these images, these vile,
    Contaminating forms: posterity
    Shall have no pleasure of these mingled snakes;
    For one by one these chambers shall be sealed
    In their pollution, as a sepulchre.


DON GARCILASO.

      Good, good! You will erase their pictures--good!
    But the arch-hypocrite himself, this flower
    Of the fiend-brood, can you erase him?


JULIUS.

    Wait!

     [_They part, and the_ POPE _passes on to the Borgia Tower. The_
     PAPAL GUARD _marches in and files behind him_.


SCENE VII

     _The Borgia Tower in the Vatican._

     DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _is facing the_ LORD
     JULIUS II.

     _In the prison with him are_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE TORELLA, MESSER
     AGAPITO DA AMALIA, _the_ LORD CARDINAL GIOVANNI VERA OF SAN
     BALBINE, _and some Spanish Cardinals_.


JULIUS.

    Your Castellan has hanged my messenger.


CESARE.

    Faithful!


JULIUS.

                You promised
    Cesena should surrender.


CESARE.

                              Ha, it knows
    The false word of command; it will not answer
    Its lord in treason to himself, controlled
    By force and the malignity of Fate.


JULIUS.

      Spawn of a harlot, if you brave the Church,
    Reserving her possessions, you descend
    Into the Mola’s deepest cells to perish
    Of darkness and the phantoms through the dark
    Your serpent eyes will follow. This same hour
    You will descend in night unless you render
    The watchword of your castles. Render it!


CESARE.

    [_Retreating as if from a blow._

      Your promise! You instated me; I gave you
    My Spanish votes for the Vicariate
    Of my Romagnole cities. I am still
    Your Gonfalonier; and you press me thus ...
    Fool, I believed your pledge!


JULIUS.

                              --To hand
    Our Papal fiefs and lordships to the Wolf?
    We gave you but your own and your own life.
    Cur of the Devil!
    And you can speak of oath or pledge! How simple
    Such plea from you! Could Sinigaglia hear!
    I’ll not be tricked. Dog in a doublet, villain!
    Unbosom!

     [_He strikes his staff on the ground and grasps_ CESARE’S _vest_.


CESARE.

    [_Suddenly slipping down to_ JULIUS’ _feet_.

                      Holiness,
    Secure your castles from the grasp of Venice!
    While they are ruled by me, impregnable
    They stand about the country; they remain
    The castles of the Church. But publish me
    A traitor to these walls my sword has won,
    The strongholds lapse to Venice. For a Pope
    I won them, let me hold them for a Pope--

    [_With a faint smile._

    Under the shadow of your wings.


JULIUS.

    The watchword!


CESARE.

      Let me hold them in their strength
    For Rome, the Church!


JULIUS.

    Your watchword!


CESARE.

    [_Rising with flame in his eyes._

    It will storm my heart ... I cannot.


JULIUS.

      Then you have chosen
    A lifetime in the dens your victims haunt.
    Mule! And the Guard is waiting ...
                                        Son of Hell!

    [_He makes a sign to summon the_ PAPAL GUARD.


CESARE.

    [_With a wide gesture._] Freedom!


JULIUS.

    ... Speak out,
    Or write your watchword, and Lord Santa Croce
    Shall wait with you at Naples, till I hear
    Cesena makes submission: then you pass
    Free, where you will.

_The_ PAPAL GUARD _enters_.


CESARE.

    My freedom!


AGAPITO.

                                Excellence, dear lord,
    As you have pity on our love, unbury
    The word that makes you free.


CESARE.

                                  Agapito!
    You are as I....
    [_In a whisper._] Write it. [AGAPITO _turns to the desk_.
                            O my Cesena,
    A word to soil you!--Overthrown,
    Forli, Cesena, and my guardian Rocca,
    Proof against every hazard, save your lord’s
    Betrayal of your honour! Fallen--O fallen!
    The walls--the walls before me!

     [JULIUS _has moved to the table to receive the writing_. CESARE
     _throws himself prone on his conch and does not move_.

_A_ CHAMBERLAIN _enters_.


CHAMBERLAIN.

                                    Holiness,
    Messer Buonarotti, waits command.
    He brings a drawing of ten Victories
    Niched in your monument.


JULIUS.

                              Ah, the winged Victories,
    Each triumphing above a subject province,
    Disarmed beneath her feet. How terribly
    This chafing Florentine achieves my future!
    Ten times a victor, yet no war declared:
    The Church triumphant--ay, since militant!


AGAPITO.

     [_As the pen falls from his hand and he gives the writing to_
     JULIUS.

                              All that my lord can do
    Is done: if still the fortresses maintain
    Their loyalty to their effective Duke,
    He takes no fault and he demands his freedom.


JULIUS.

    [_With a burst of laughter, as he reads the watchword._

    The forts must yield:
    If they resist our sovereign voice they ruin
    Themselves and their usurper. [_Pointing to_ CESARE.
                                      He is lost.


AGAPITO.

    Then let me further write.

    [_Turning to the others with the paper_ JULIUS _has returned_.

                              Be witnesses, you, you....
    Now countersign my words! His liberty
    Derives but from his castellans--that conquers!
    They will ride forth beneath his banneroles,
    Crying their _Duca, Duca!_


JULIUS.

                              They shall dislodge, cast down
    His scutcheon on the ground and hoist the Keys.

    [_Exit with the_ PAPAL GUARD.

     [LORD CARDINAL VERA _approaches_ CESARE’S _couch, then shakes his
     head and joins the others_.


VERA.

      It is too sore! When he was but my scholar,
    As if the son of a great potentate
    He breathed to rule, his glance made heritage.


TORELLA.

      This pestilential fever
    Has worked down to the scath, the sunken rock,
    His taint of blood: he is involved, uncertain;
    The level brain has sprung at accident,
    And scattered loose the logic of his dreams--
    Broken and lost.


BONAFEDE.

                      Had he but drawn his army
    Clear of this Rome and leapt on Pisa, had he
    Refused to sell his votes he had been saved.


CESARE.

      [_Suddenly lifting his head._]
    You were throwing dice.... Continue! Play the game.

     [_Silently two_ SPANISH GENTLEMEN _seat themselves near his couch
     and play. He turns on his elbow and watches them, passing his ball
     of perfume from hand to hand_.


AGAPITO.

    [_In a murmur to_ TORELLA.

      For hours, long hours, impassible he fixes
    His eyes upon the board, as if the secret
    Of Destiny were secret of a Sphinx
    He could divine by watching.


CESARE.

      [_Still fixed on the game, but speaking to all._] Without doubt
    Our fortune is unchained against us, friends:
    But there are chances--let us reckon them!
    My captain Scipione is of ours
    Till death; he joins me in my liberty.
    The bankers guard three hundred thousand ducats
    At Genoa and at Florence: from such nurture
    Springs a live army. Volpe and Michelotto
    Refuse for any bribe to quit my service.
    I do not even accuse my fate, still less
    The ingratitude of men, for I have found
    In all, save one I trusted, loyalty.
    Bring me my poignard with the little mirror--
    That peasant’s hand ruffled my chemisette....

     [_The poignard being brought, he looks in its glass at his
     tear-stained face._

    What ruin! Damage!
    ... And yet my enemies are frightened, Vera.
    These giants of power still fear a fettered man,
    Ill, shaking in a tertian, and with life
    Itself unwarranted from hour to hour.
    Stir up the hearth and spread the juniper’s
    Cloud of ripe resin....

_Enter_ MESSER NICCOLO MACCHIAVELLI.

    Messer Niccolo!

    [_He gives his hand._

    Why are you come? You scarcely fear me now.
    Welcome!


MACCHIAVELLI.

              Your Excellence, to bid farewell.
    To-morrow I depart.


CESARE.

                        Why are you come?...
    Ah, I am cheap! All use me as the poor
    Burn forest--_ecco_!
                      No diplomacy!
    Why should you bid farewell to me you ruined,
    Delaying your safe-conduct to my troops?
    You triumph?


MACCHIAVELLI.

                  I am curious, Excellence!
    And I must watch you, if I will or not.


CESARE.

    A prodigy, a monster!


MACCHIAVELLI.

      [_With vibrating voice._] No, but a Prince
    Unequalled.


CESARE.

      [_Springing up._] You behold? Have you the eyes--
    Keen, cutting crystals that have shot out joy
    To see me totter?
                      Messer Niccolo,
    If we are comprehended, we are greater
    Than Fate or any chance. I am a prince.
    Set down my kingdom that shall ever be
    While dreams are portents. Oh, set down
    The perfect scheming of the miracle!
    Each part of action in my brain was solved,
    And flowed on to its end. You recognised,
    When, in the greatness of effective truth,
    Last year I awed Romagna, and exacted
    Sharp vengeance on my injurers, my kingdom
    Was as the genesis of stars? With fire
    Of primal force I founded it, secure
    Against all future shocks, save this assault
    Of sickness unto death at the steep moment
    When death struck down my father.
    ... Yet it crumbles
    It grows a shadow round me. Macchiavelli,
    Restore it, by the word embody it;
    Let it not perish! I shall ever wonder
    That such perfection fell to nothingness
    In its astute, swift likelihood. O Fortune!
    The gulf.... [_Breaking off with a gesture of menace._
                        You start for Florence?


MACCHIAVELLI.

                                    Ay, for Florence,
    To-morrow morning, close upon the dawn.


CESARE.

      Take back to Florence this: if I but capture
    Occasion once again, I sign a treaty,
    Even if I needs must sign it with the Devil,
    Gather my treasure, play my last resources,
    Assemble all my friends, and, once at Pisa,
    Use every power of my extremity
    To render Florence evil, hour for hour
    Of her despite....
      [_With a low laugh._] You think me slipping down
    Into my tomb.... Ah, Messer Niccolo,
    If I were you, this Cesar who is nothing
    Would be contemptible. You ought to crush me,
    You ought to make your mirth that I am flat:
    It is my law that you fulfil; and justice
    Is linked so with my judgment, even my passion
    Conceives cold rage alone, or utter scorn
    Of those who cannot end me. I look often
    With still eyes on my end.

                                Farewell, farewell! You listen,
    And all your face is speaking to my words.
    We love each other, my best enemy.
    Farewell.
              All I have been is with you. Fortune
    Out of her giddy air will arbitrate
    Between my past and future.

     [_He gives his hand again._ MACCHIAVELLI _quickly stoops and kisses
     it_.


MACCHIAVELLI.

    Prince!




ACT VI


SCENE I

     _Three years later._

     _A small Tower-prison of the Castle of La Mota del Medina in
     Spain._

     _Against one wall, hung with a canvas, four or five gyr-falcons sit
     leashed on a perch._

     DON CESARE BORGIA _leans out of the narrow window, watching the
     pitch of his gyr-falcon. The_ GOVERNOR DON PEDRO DE TAPIA _and a
     squire_, JUANITO GRASICA, _stand behind him_.


CESARE.

      She rows the air, she towers ... now makes her point,
    Now waits--she waits up the free air.
    Magnificent!... A kite that she would vanquish....
    Quarry--and she upon her tower ... free to drink blood.

    [_He looks back and laughs._

    Ha! Like a loosened thunderbolt she stoops!...
    Could you but see! Amazing!
    Who-whoop! She flies too hard ... who-whoop!--and cannot hold:
    ’Tis death, but so impetuous in the dealing
    Her quarry is struck down. [_Turning again._
                              Señor Don Pedro,
    My vehement gyr-falcon loses me
    Her quarry in your ditch....


DON PEDRO.

    It shall be sought.


CESARE.

    No, leave it--that were tame!

     [_With a profound sigh he holds out the lure to which at last the
     falcon comes; then he gives the bird to_ JUANITO, _who ties her on
     the screen-perch_.

    Is the sun setting?--Vespers from the Church
    Of San Lorenzo!
      [_To_ DON PEDRO.] We are gratified
    By this long visit, for the course of things
    Is brought by you in current to our eyrie,
    Clear up from life upon your voice.
                                        We may not
    Detain you longer.


DON PEDRO.

                        But I exult, Don Cesar
    De Borjà, in the converse of a man
    Who held the crown of Mars in Italy.
    There is lifting of the heart and joy of blood
    When you recount....


CESARE.

                                Don Pedro,
    My chaplain will confess me presently;
    The soul must reach that vein.


DON PEDRO.

                                  Forgive! No further moment!
    Adieu. [_Exit._


CESARE.

    [_With a snarling yawn, like a caged animal’s._

            Begone!--He wearied me a year.
    When will his servant, black Magona, bring us
    The coil of rope?


JUANITO.

    At sunset, Excellence.


CESARE.

      Now the king-star
    Is falling down below the rocks--and blue
    As a sea-deep is the hollow we must tempt;
    It is blue: one venturing bird
    Makes it gigantic with a little shake,
    An arietta.... We must drop down lower
    Than the bird’s song--it is not from the ground.
    Look, my Juanito!
    Aside I hitch my shoulders through this narrow
    And windy crevice of the barbican.
    I am as agile and as thin as you,
    I feel as young--
    Case-hardened from that pestilence, a tower
    Among my race; strong as La Mota;
    A creature that but needs to touch the earth
    To be Antaeus and invincible.
    You shall descend first--death for you or freedom.
    Then welcome death or freedom! Could I, Juan,
    Leave you behind--
    We who sailed out together, desolate,
    And for three years have tasted unenjoyed
    Sleep, and the vigil that has been our lives?
    We do not on a peradventure part:
    You have the lighter bones, the cord will bear you
    Down to the grass so featly, it will signal
    Its eagerness to me.... Juanito,
    How full a man you come from these three years!
    Will everything be changed as you?


JUANITO.

                                       Oh, no!
    Those who have loved you cannot love you more;
    They cannot grow in that. Her Excellence
    Your sister will be happy
    Beyond the last hope of her weariness
    At the free news.


CESARE.

                        Lucrezia! I can watch her--
    How at Ferrara all her life goes by;
    How, from her sun-red towers, across the plain
    She is looking out, and cannot see the prison
    That stifles me: her eyes as they look out
    Turn Amor into stone.
                          When will the rope be brought?
    How soon? This Garcia de Magona will not
    Betray me as Gonsalvo at the last?


JUANITO.

    Garcia is safe; he burns to furnish you.


CESARE.

      How wider
    The steepness stretches, the tranquillity!
    What does it promise? It is Fortune’s Pit,
    That gapes in Spain, that swallowed me awhile
    In Rome and Naples, and then cast me out
    Alive upon this pinnacle. And now....
    The world will be my chess-board, I survey
    Until occasion hail me. There is Louis
    Of France would set his horse to tread with mine;
    The Emperor hates as Pope the Rovere;
    Gonzaga lord of Mantua will espouse
    My fellowship, Ferrara is fraternal;
    My brother of Navarre; to whom I fly,
    Strangely accordant....

     [_He gazes out in concentrated reverie. A key is turned softly at
     the door_; GARCIA DE MAGONA _enters, bringing ropes_.


JUANITO.

      [_In a whisper to himself._] But my lord is rapt!
    How still the Spanish boy,
    His black hair shining and his ears with edges
    Of the clear ruddiness of pomegranates,
    The light of sunset is so shed on him.

     [_He waits till_ GARCIA _has locked the door on the inside, then
     steals towards him._


GARCIA.

      Be swift!
    Hush, lay them in the chest beneath your clothes.
    They are good--they will be faithful to the Duke....
    Christ grant his other means be safe as these!
    Will he not turn?
                        Though of a different race,
    This lord, who is so reverend and so dreadful,
    Is homely and most courteous to the poor.
    I would not have you trouble him.


JUANITO.

                                Garcia, I dare not
    Utter your coming since he misses it.
    With widely-open nostrils and great eyes,
    He hangs above the gulf.


GARCIA.

                               Tell him, Juanito,
    One night when he is out of Spain in safety,
    I went to San Lorenzo, for his sake,
    To pray the Saints would bear him in their hands.
    Cover the rope!
                      A trumpet will be blown
    Down in the fosse, when Don Rodrigo’s men
    Are ready with the horses. All my life
    Is in to-night if he is saved. Farewell! [_Exit._

     [JUANITO _hides the rope and sits on the chest in the last red of
     the sunset, singing to himself_.

                      “Gentil Signore,
    Cesare Borgia, figlio del Pastore.”


CESARE.

      [_As if waking._] Why, that is what they sing at my Cesena,
    ’Mid the snow-marbled Apennine. My shepherds
    Hailed me the Shepherd’s son--their simpleness
    Could so attune the distant Vatican
    With their cool valleys ... and I cannot laugh.


JUANITO.

      I have the rope: soon you will hear a call
    Hummed up upon a trumpet.


CESARE.

                              O royal Italy!
    O my Romagna ... but I cannot breathe!
    The sun is fallen, the air of the abyss
    Blows like blue fields of waving flax. Look down!
    The little stream Zapadiel disappears,
    And the wild brushwood and the flock of goats;
    Even the East has faded....
                                    Did you tell me
    They play up from the fosse a trumpet-note
    When the horses wait? Once more to touch a bridle,
    Once more astride to feel the rocking flanks!
    Ha, ha! And then my sudden apparition,
    As if I were the devil. Hark, a sound!
    Listen! [_He trembles all over._
    A snake-note darting up ... a bugle!


JUANITO.

      No, no, no!
    The bleating of a goat.


CESARE.

                            How closely darkening
    The shadows favour us ... and there are rumours
    The wind takes from the ground of horses’ hoofs....

    [_A trumpet is lightly blown._

    Fortune, my war-cry once again!
      [JUANITO _rushes for the rope_.] _Aut Cesar_,
    _Aut nihil!_ But to-day I take the plunge,
    I dare the pit, the downfall.
      [_To_ JUANITO.] Knot it here more firmly,
    Round this crenelle--steady! It must not jag....
    Now my light ball, I throw you to the breezes,
    Ding-dangle--thus!
      [_He lets_ JUANITO _down_.] Your odds, Juanito,
    Against the wheel of Fortune!
    ... He keeps hold--
    O boy! the rope is taut. It holds....
      This cumbers me. [_Throwing off his cloak._
    Our Lord God, in His infinite clemency,
    And for His greater glory against Fate’s
    Vicissitudes....
                      A jerk!--the final die is cast!
    Cesar--or nothing!

     [_He climbs down the rope into the ravine, as voices are heard on
     the stairs. The door opens and_ DON PEDRO _rushes in with
     soldiers_.


DON PEDRO.

                        What horn-call was that?
    Gone, gone! Our peril,
    Our loss! I reel ... He shall not so escape.
    Death, or our re-possession of him!
                                        Down,
    Traitor, blasphemer, down! Down!

     [_He cuts the rope, motioning some of the soldiers to descend._

    [_After awhile._


    Guards, are you there?


A VOICE.

    [_Just heard from below._

    They dragged him to their horses--all are fled.


SCENE II

     _The Camp of the_ KING OF NAVARRE _at Viana. A March tempest is
     blowing._

     _Enter_ MESSER AGAPITO _meeting_ JUANITO GRASICA _in front of a
     tent that beats in the wind. Their torches are almost
     extinguished._


AGAPITO.

    Juanito, have they drawn in the posts?


JUANITO.

      All are retired to shelter, Secretary.
    These Navarrais received my lord’s command
    With manifest bewilderment.


AGAPITO.

                                  Our Captain
    Has ever saved his troops fatigue and tempest:
    These men are rude in habit, and the lashing
    Of mountain-storms familiar. O my lad,
    We are not now in Italy.


JUANITO.

                               Ah, would we were!
    Señor Agapito, we have one breath:
    Our lives are for his use. What are your tidings?


AGAPITO.

      His every hope miscarries--everywhere
    Hostility, abandon or suspicion:
    The Pope has drawn his treasure from the banks,
    Dried up the fountain of his polity,
    The means of gathering troops, the hope of calling
    His ancient captains to his side.


JUANITO.

                                      O Señor,
    That letter from the King of France, withdrawing
    All revenues and honour from our lord,
    Joining his Dukedom and his French domains
    To Dauphiné and Berry, as they were
    Before the royal gift--did you consider ...
    Yes, but I see you did ... his look that day?
    It was a face of hell; and ever since
    His eyes throw flame out.


AGAPITO.

                                Think! He has engrossed
    The world’s resources from his earliest years,
    Marshal, as San Michele, of God’s hosts,
    And born Vicegerent.... Think! He now has nothing
    But his invincible, rejected sword.
    A pauper, and a hireling to his brother--
    This Navarrais, this kinglet--yet with sweep,
    A great glance on a little verge, he conquers
    These rebels of Viana and their chief
    Louis de Beaumont, that the petty realm
    Being consolidate and set between
    His foes of France and Spain, he may have option
    To hold o’er each the sword of Damocles.
    The brain that wrought at Sinigaglia once
    Works still among barbarians. But his lips,
    Like famished wolf-fangs, and his thwarted youth,
    His darkened joy in freedom!--I have wept ...
    Go in, go in!


JUANITO.

                    Such clouds of wind discharge,
    I do not feel the rain.

     [KING DON JUAN OF NAVARRE _and_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA
     ROMAGNA _advance towards the tent with torch-bearers_.


DON JUAN.

                            Our confidence
    Is strict in your direction--not a word
    From us to the great Captain, to the Son
    Of War: our trust is blind.
                                You show distress
    At this rude blowing, and your velvet cloak
    Might well have been afloat upon a river.
    Good night; good sleep, my brother César. Scarcely
    In Italy the air rolls thus.


CESARE.

                            Good-night,
    Don Juan. Such a fan exasperates,
    Entering all senses.

     [_They shake hands._ DON JUAN _goes out_. CESARE _motions his
     torch-bearer to withdraw_.

                      Come, Juanito;
    Unarm me. To your tent, Agapito;
    You will have rheum to-morrow. [_Exit_ AGAPITO.
                                    God!--the stroke
    Of wing this tempest has: there is no shield.
    Lift up the tent-skirt, Juan.

     [_They go in, and the sound is heard of armour flung on the floor.
     Then_ CESARE’S _voice is heard_.

      [_Within._] Take a cloak,
    A dry one from the press, and bear this message
    Back to Don Juan; I forgot.
                                Look round!
    See that my stallion
    Is dry, and, fresh-caparisoned, waits ready
    In the next tent.

    [JUANITO _comes from the tent and passes into the night_.

                        The tramp, the cavalcade
    Of these cursed whirlwinds, of the secret legions--
    The hauntings of an army I shall never
    Command--
    [_His voice rises._] shall never summon. I am void;
    I cannot buy the forces that I love;
    I cannot as a Suzerain compel ...
    I have no place, no rank, no furniture.
    This march, this freight of cannon--all were mine;
    I struck them on the air, cried _Halt_ or _On_ ...
    My patrimony! Deep where dreams outspread,
    A phantom army, Cesar’s army, rambles
    Ungeneralled.
                    O fury of the night!
    This France that has rejected me, this Spain
    That bound me hand and foot, this Papacy
    That locks me from Romagna with its keys,
    From all my captains and my army calling
    Across the Alps--I have one lust, one cry
    For blood within me....
                                  Ha, to plunge my sword
    In vengeance to the heart of France, the throat
    Of Spain, the entrails of the Vatican!
    To murder countries--not the flesh and blood
    Of just a man here, there, but states and kingdoms--
    Draw out their life! Has not all checking life
    Flowed forth in darkness to my sovereignty?
    If I have lost the land that I could rule,
    And if my army is a host of winds,
    I still can thirst for blood.... I have my sword,
    And, sword in hand, the last breath that I breathe
    Will be a breath of appetite and hate.
    I have my sword--

     [_He sweeps back the tent-skirts, and stands face to the storm, the
     torch behind him._

                        O shifting elements,
    Chaos is on me--I am not of Chaos!
    I could ride forth
    A single horseman riding forth to conquer
    The day, the night; I could confine these winds
    Had I the watchword.... Beaten back, destroyed!
   --Close in!

     [_He wraps the folds of the tent together. There is no sound in the
     tent._


A SENTRY’S VOICE.

      Who passes? _Pampeluna!_ Do you hear?
    I give you _Pampeluna_!...
    [_In a whisper._] No, _Saint Jaques_!
    Then it must be the wind.


A SUDDEN GREAT CRY.

    Beaumont, a Beaumont!


ALARUM FROM ANOTHER POST.

      The enemy! Ho, ho! The enemy!
    Awake, wake!


ANOTHER CRY CLOSE AT HAND.

    Beaumont!


CESARE’S VOICE.

      [_Within._] _Duca!_ Blood of God!
    What is their war-cry? _Beaumont?_

     [_He throws open the doors of the tent, struggling into his
     armour._ JUANITO _rushes up_.


    Ambushed by Fate! Juanito, the torch
    Is falling: light another. Do you see,
    I cannot find the buckles.... I must ride....
    Fetch out my horse.... The corselet--that will serve.

    [JUANITO _goes for the horse_.


CRIES RENEWED.

    Beaumont, a Beaumont!


CESARE.

      [_Snatching up his sword._] Curse the renegades!
    What is my war-cry? [_He comes out of the tent bareheaded._
                        It confuses me....
    The tramp, the tramp! Ah, if I led an army!
    Ah, I could lead--on, on!

    [_The horse is brought._


JUANITO.

    _With one look at his master, as he mounts._

    Unarmed!

    [_He runs into the tent._


CESARE.

      [_Laughing._] Unarmed!... The sweep, the rush, the hungry onset
    Sweep me along, cry round ... the engines crash!
    Banners of Hell, my banners on the wind!


JUANITO.

    [_Running out of the tent._] Stay--your _celada_!


CESARE.

    Fling it! _Duca!_ On!

     [_He dashes out of the courtyard. His escort has gathered and waits
     stupidly the word of command._


JUANITO.

      He gave us no command. His horse has stumbled.
    Curses across the wind--


CESARE’S VOICE.

    [_Suddenly distinct, though far away._] On, _Duca_, on!


JUANITO.

      He flies down the Solana in the wind.
    Mount, mount! God’s Love! But we must follow him.


SCENE III

     _The_ ABBESS’ _room at the Convent of Corpus Domini at Ferrara. At
     the back there is a little shrine and a crucifix._

     _The_ LORD CARDINAL IPPOLITO D’ESTE _converses with_ MESSER
     CRISTOFERO.


CRISTOFERO.

      It will not be her death; she has such safety
    As quiet pinions give to birds in storm.


IPPOLITO.

      I dared not tell her till her husband wrote:
    His letter trembles in my hand....


CRISTOFERO.

                                           For days
    She has been pacing, fasting, full of terrors
    Worse far than any term! The air has quickened
    To prophet’s divination--noise and silence
    Was in it of great woe.
                            She comes.... God’s mercy!

_Enter_ DUCHESS LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE, _in the dress of a penitent, her
hair unbound_.


LUCREZIA.

    He is dead, Ippolito!


IPPOLITO.

    Read--from your husband.


LUCREZIA.

      Tell me ... the parchment rocks.... You see
    My hands, my eyes are helpless; but my soul
    Is firmer. Tell me....


CRISTOFERO.

    He is dead, Madonna!


LUCREZIA.

      God told me--and I only hear it now!
    Cesare!--and so far, so far....
                                      Oh, tell me,
    Save me in nothing: I shall lose all refuge
    Of credence if you do not make me sure
    As death that he is dead.


IPPOLITO.

    The letter----


LUCREZIA.

    Some voice to tell me!


IPPOLITO.

      [_To_ CRISTOFERO.] Call Juanito. [_Exit_ CRISTOFERO.
    Sister, if you would learn, the King Don Juan
    Has sent the faithful squire whose feet have followed
    Your soldier to his grave.


LUCREZIA.

                                Whose feet have followed,
    Among the foreigners....


IPPOLITO.

                                    O Light of Arms!
    His wife, his sister will lament for him,
    As round the dead Achilles wept Cassandra,
    And wept Polyxena,
    That in the world none lived redoubtable
    As he who everywhere brought peace or war.
    He drew his doom as lightnings ever strike
    The mountain-heights Acroceraunian,
    While lesser mountains stretch along, unflamed.
    We leave him to God’s judgment, in the glory
    And terror of those strokes.

_Re-enter_ CRISTOFERO _with_ JUANITO GRASICA.


LUCREZIA.

                                  By your own eyes,
    By your own lips, vow you will tell me truth.

    [JUANITO _lays his forehead on her hand_.

    Where?


JUANITO.

    At Viana in Navarre.


LUCREZIA.

                                Viana!...
    It is as distant as the grave.


JUANITO.

                                 He challenged
    The outposts of the Count of Lérin....


LUCREZIA.

                                           That
    Is nothing now--foregone! Speak but of him;
    The moment, my extremity.


JUANITO.

                                    We lost him;
    His horse affrighted galloped on the blast;
    He disappeared beneath us where the lea
    Broke to ravine: we heard the hoofs beneath us,
    And cries of fierce pursuit ... but all was darkness.

    [_He weeps bitterly._


LUCREZIA.

    Yes, weep, weep--it is well!
                                   Now speak of him.


JUANITO.

      Dawn found me tangled by the night, and crying
    In the alien, stone wilderness, a captive.
    They brought his arms,
    His sparkling arms; they questioned of the Prince
    Who wore them.


LUCREZIA.

    But the moment....


JUANITO.

                                              Of a sudden
    The foe retreated, leaving me: I reached
    The rough-hewn gorge....

    [_Near to her and in a changed voice._

                                 He lay there, naked
    He lay....

     [LUCREZIA _folds her arms over her breast as with a close embrace_.

             --his face under the sky: his wounds
    A hero’s--twenty-three; across his loins
    A bloodied stone, his life-blood round the rocks,
    His hair a weft of red. How beautiful,
    And wild and out of memory was his face!
    The great wind swept him and the sun rose up ...


LUCREZIA.

    They buried him?


JUANITO.

      Beside the lectern of St. Mary’s church
    Within Viana, and the pomp was great,
    For he had thought to bind a crown on once:
    They gave him kingly honours.


LUCREZIA.

                                  Oh, pray for him,
    That he may rest in peace! There must be peace.
    Great, agitated Spirit! Oh, let prayers,
    Reverend Ippolito, let prayers be said
    In every church, at every altar-stone,
    By all the quiet lips that wait on God.
    Leave me.... The prayers, the prayers, dear Cardinal,
    That he may rest in everlasting peace!
    Cristofero and the poor Squire--all go.
    All pray for us.

     [_They leave her and she kneels before the crucifix of the little
     shrine._

                    Cesare, O my eagle!...
    The stony tract!...
                            I am but for thy use
    To pray thee into peace, to win a crown
    Even now for thee, where the vast Majesty
    Gives each his destined aim made bright by prayers.
    _Maria_, aid! It is his heritage.
    Spare him and aid me! Every day, at night,
    On through the years while I must see the sun
    Who have lost my sun fallen in that dire west--
    On to the silence of the hour of death,
    Let me not cease my voice! It is my love
    Sole to him, as I am. O Cesare,
    My body evermore, till sepulture,
    Shall bind the hair-shirt to its flesh as barbs,
    Never forgetful how thou wert cast forth
    Stripped to the sky, with nothing in the world
    To plead to God with but thy valiant blood,
    Thy regal front below Him.
                                   I could almost
    Swoon into prayer, but for the intercession
    Of the great, peaceful companies on earth,
    And bowing through the heavens and round God’s Throne.

     [_She sinks into a still ecstasy. Silently_ SUOR LUCIA _enters and
     kneels beside her_.


SCENE IV

     _The Château of La Motte-Feuilly in France._

     _A balcony hung with black--below it are forest-trees, some in full
     leaf, others creeping into green. Solemn masses of wild hyacinths
     clump up against the castle walls._

     _The_ DUCHESS CHARLOTTE DE VALENTINOIS _in deep black stands in the
     balcony, a purple purse laid beside her_.


CHARLOTTE.

                                        My sables
    Hang heavy on the spring; and I myself
    Have known a bliss struck cold, a pleasure
    So terrible ... he, who attracts such joy
    And overcomes such hate,
    Is puissant as an infinite lost god....
    The leaves
    Are very soft and green and masterful....
    The peasant-folk approach, the humble poor
    They say he gave his voice in softness to
    Who brought old kings to murmur round his urn,
    Rebellious that it held him.

    [_Some_ PEASANTS _come through the trees_.

                                 O good people,
    Pray for Lord César--for his soul!

    [_She gives alms from the purple purse and they pass out._

                                       They pray,
    They will go home and pray:
    I love to watch them homeward, simple folk,
    With hunger I can feed.

    [_She leans forward, supporting her arms on the balcony._

                              I cannot pray: my _Aves_
    And all the beads of all my rosary,
    Would be for access to him, for his favour.
    They will pray,
    And bring him peace far from me. But to me
    It is the many leaves bring peace, the forest,
    The wrapping and the murmur of the wind;
    For when I wake at night, wake in my forest,
    I am glad to wake: I hear the accusation
    Of the great Kings they carved about his tomb,
    Who pass around it, weeping--Saul and David
    And Solomon, the Scripture Kings, all lost
    And wandering as ghosts and desolate,
    With cry to the four royal winds, to Heaven,
    And to the swerving roll of the great forest,
    That César has no crown....

    [_A_ NURSE _passes under the balcony leading a young child_.

    ... No crown, no race--I have not borne a son.

    [_She bows her face over her arms._

                        There is not any
    Among the Kings gold-browed as this. Oh, peace!
    But lift it in your hands--’tis Gideon’s fleece
    This forthright weft of silky blond. And many
    Dumb animals lurk at the eyelids’ crease,
    Under the eyes--a serpent that from fenny
    Marish finds sluice; a lion when in den he
    Deviseth rage; an ox beneath the trees:
    Yea, and an eagle droopeth for its prey,
    A malign eagle, in the slack, dull gaze.
    But on the lips what panting savagery,
    The fang of the wolf on winter forest-ways!
    Yet is the face soft, lonely, over all
    A honied mystery that must appal.


     Elogia virorum illustrium, 1551.


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